


On Free Will and the Choices We Make

by aanahitt



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AU-Canon divergence, Forgiveness, Free Will, Friends to Lovers, M/M, NOT 6000 years of pining, Redemption, for God, redemption arc, she needs one and we all know it, sorry - Freeform, through the ages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aanahitt/pseuds/aanahitt
Summary: "My angels don't love humanity either," God confided. "Not as I wished."Lucifer sent her a sharp look. "Crowley is one of mine. You can't take him."The look she sent back hadmorethan a spark of mischief. "We could play for him.""It wouldn't be a fair game," Lucifer pointed out. "They don't have free will. Not properly. Maybe in another six thousand years the humans will rub off on them more.""That," said God. "can be changed."In 1769, God and Lucifer make another one of their bets, but this time the prize is an angel and a demon. The only catch is, they'll need 250 years to get used to having free will, and God and Lucifer will need to watch them the whole way.It can't be that bad. They can make polite conversation while watching what looks more and more like a love story, can't they?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), God & Lucifer
Comments: 56
Kudos: 54





	1. The Beginning

_"We cannot do good, or even evil, unless we do it freely; and if we admit the idea of good at all in human society, freedom must be its accompaniment.” - Hilaire Belloc_

The year was 1769 and the theater was packed. Hidden among the throng of humanity was one angel and one demon, covertly making another deal, as per their Arrangement, furtively hoping no one would notice that they weren't _completely_ doing their jobs. Or at all, on many occasions, though their reports always looked positively brimming with use. In fact, Aziraphale regularly "thwarted demonic wiles" with a well placed lunch offer and a glass of wine, which worked 10 times out of 10 for getting at least one demon to forgo demonic work entirely for at least a day. Crowley, on the other hand, would fancify a covert confrontation that ended angelic intervention, easily ignoring that this was done mostly through his own tempting - dinner and dessert.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. "Toss you for it," he offered. The assignment was out in the country, and he would have to ride a horse, and horses were uncomfortable - especially demon ones, all flame and brimstone - so he was planning on fixing the coin toss. It'd worked before. Then he'd be free to talk to artists and musicians and generally get very drunk, because being drunk always led to good conversation and a weird sense of emotion that he couldn't completely describe and never felt while sober.

It had been during one of his drinking binges when he'd idly considered that if demons were able to love, he'd probably love Aziraphale. Not because of his looks, of course, and he didn't feel anything close to what his artist friends had described over the millennia. That, he'd understood, was a purely human emotion, and as much as it fascinated and drew him, it was out of his reach. No, the reason he'd chosen Aziraphale was because Aziraphale was interesting, he was kind, and he made Crowley feel incredibly at home whenever they lunched or even talked.

Aziraphale sent Crowley a skeptical look, but nodded. "Oh, very well."

Aziraphale knew very well the coin toss would be rigged, but he let Crowley run the farce anyway. Aziraphale was just kind enough to let him wriggle out of any assignment which forced him onto a horse.

If Aziraphale had been the kind for introspection, he may have come up with a similar conclusion as drunken Crowley had that night after they'd shared several bottles of wine, and Crowley had fallen asleep in Aziraphale's house. He wasn't, however, but he was a worrier, and as such, he'd simply included Crowley in his list of things to worry about since they'd had their first lunch together, sharing a plate of oysters, and then worried about what Heaven or Hell would think should they find out.

Two rows back, another pair watched the entire exchange, as unmatched as the ones they watched. The girl looked to be about fifteen, bright gold eyes wide with innocence, though anyone looking closely would find a hidden mischievous spark and an ancient weight in them. To her right sat a man who seemed to be in his mid twenties, who sat formally in his chair, not turning to look at his companion.

"You're not going to punish him?" asked the Almighty.

"Sloth is, technically, a sin. It's not one of my favorites, but tempting an angel into doing temptations isn't exactly wrong. You aren't going to do anything about your man?" Lucifer asked, finally looking at Her. His eyes were the deep red of dried blood that made most people uncomfortable to meet them.

Unless, of course, it was Her.

She smiled, and it was a perfectly serene smile. "Getting a demon to do good deeds isn't exactly wrong." She turned back to the scene, so Her companion did too. "Of all the angels, these two are the only ones who truly appreciate the Earth."

Lucifer snorted. "Why would anyone appreciate these humans? They are nothing. Not powerful, not strong. They fall to temptation with so little urging. When we have a final tally, you'll see that I'm right."

God shook Her head. "You insist in seeing the worst of them, yet you don't even come up to speak with them. You just sit in Hell with your demons and the already damned."

"Of course. That's where you tossed me."

"Hell wasn't meant as a punishment," God said, and Her voice was sad and tired. "You made it into one yourselves."

Lucifer just scoffed.

They watched the deal end, with Aziraphale taking the horse to whatever town they had been sent to next.

"My angels don't love humanity either," God confided. "Not as I wished."

Lucifer sent her a sharp look. "Crowley is one of mine. You can't take him."

The look she sent back had _more_ than a spark of mischief. "We could play for him."

"It wouldn't be a fair game," Lucifer pointed out. "They don't have free will. Not properly. Maybe in another six thousand years the humans will rub off on them more."

"That," said God. "can be changed."

Lucifer stared at Her. "You can't be serious. The last time you gave an angel free will you had to create an entire realm just to hold your mistake."

"You're not a mistake, child," God said sadly.

He crossed his arms and looked at Crowley, thinking it over and ignoring what she'd said. "So, what are the terms? You give them free will, I test their love of humanity, and if either of them fails, then I get them both?"

God nodded once. "But you will give them time to get used to it. 250 years will be enough, and if they pass, they're mine."

Lucifer considered. "Could be, you realize, if they gain free will they might not _want_ to be yours, even if they pass."

She nodded. "They may not want to be yours, either."

"You might need to create another realm."

"I will risk it."

"Deal."

The next month, Crowley woke up. He was, as always happened after a good sleep, rather disjointed with the world at large, but he recognized his bed and the ceiling and the walls of his bedroom, so he knew that he was safe.

He didn't, however, immediately realize that it had been a month since he'd gone to sleep. It didn't even occur to him, because his body had never slept longer than the occasional ten or twelve hours, usually staying closer to the usual eight side of things. His corporation was mostly human, after all, and it would have taken the use of a miracle - or several, but who's counting? - to keep his body functioning for that length of time.

The idea that he would perform those miracles while _unconscious_... well, Crowley couldn't exactly be blamed for not immediately realizing his predicament, could he?

Crowley stretched unusually stiff muscles, and sneezed.

That was when he took a closer look around, and saw the dust.

The dust wasn't just normal, run of the mill dust. There was dust on his sheets, on his walls, on his ceilings and, most concerningly, on him. He ran a hand through his hair and found still more dust.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and he was clean and dressed and the room was clean and redone and when he got up he felt weirdly disconnected from the world and he knew there was a word for it, but it would take him days to find it, so he let it go.

Crowley then walked into the main room of his flat. He hadn't bought a house because it was just too much work, but even this relatively small flat was looking worse for wear.

Another miracle and the dust here too was gone, though he walked over to inspect his fruit - bought mostly for decor - more closely.

The whole thing was rotten.

 _How long have I been asleep?_ Crowley wondered, and he shivered. Anyone could have come for him while he'd been asleep. It wasn't exactly safe for a demon to be so vulnerable as to sleep however long it had been.

Crowley left his flat and wandered towards Aziraphale's last known location. Sure, technically he ought to be out of town, but - but...

The trailing thought made him pause. There wasn't a good reason for Crowley to be going to see the angel. Aziraphale couldn't stop him being vulnerable while he slept, or help him figure out what had prompted the unusual nap. He didn't need him to find out the date, that was for sure. Just to prove it, Crowley stopped a random passerby for the date, and received it, along with a weird look that suggested the passerby suspected him of being on drugs or something similar.

Crowley ignored the look.

In fact, Crowley ignored everything around him for the next few minutes, coming to terms with the fact that he'd unknowingly slept through an entire _month_ without planning or knowing about it. Had Hell asked about him? Probably not or he'd have been woken and punished for his indolence. To be fair, they rarely ever checked on him, with the last check coming in 1209, for no reason other than Hastur lurking around where Crowley had been spending the weekend. It didn't hurt matters that Aziraphale was out doing temptations in his name.

And he might even be back.

He didn't have any good reason to be heading to Aziraphale's, but... he _wanted_ to. He wanted the sense of home and comfort that only his angel could provide, and if he was a little too sober to be able to think those kinds of things, well, he didn't really notice.

This said nothing of Crowley's observational skills; it wasn't the Almighty's will that they should notice. After all, a test like this only counts if the testee was unaware someone was grading their performance.

Crowley stood in the middle of the street, debating.

On the one hand, there was the want, and it was a pretty powerful motivator on its own. On the other... well, on the other... Crowley couldn't actually come up with a negative. A lunch was in order, that was all. Maybe it was a little early for one, it had only been a month, after all, and before that they'd last seen each other almost a decade prior, but that didn't make it _wrong_.

So he headed straight towards Aziraphale's house and hoped he was back.

Aziraphale was reading.

He did tend to read. As soon as humans began writing down their experiences, Aziraphale had started reading them. There were some feelings that the humans conveyed that he could only imagine when he was reading them. The sense of wonder, of awe. Sometimes he thought he felt the barest glimmer when eating something particularly delicious, but he knew it wasn't the same.

He'd known enough writers to be able to tell.

But for all that Aziraphale had been reading practically since time began, he'd never been as absorbed as he was right now.

He'd returned two days earlier, and he hadn't stopped reading since. In fact, the only reason he stopped at all was because someone knocked on his door.

Aziraphale reluctantly put away the book he was working on, and got up. Few people knocked on his door, but he could sense there was an otherworldly presence, so he assumed it was Crowley. And Aziraphale was always excited to see Crowley.

He beamed when he opened the door to find the demon standing there, leaning against the doorway, as tempting as always.

To humans, that was.

"Crowley, you're remarkably on time. I only got back recently."

The demon grinned. "Oh? What've you been up to since?"

"Reading. I found a new author I'm just fascinated by. I haven't even stopped to eat."

"Haven't stopped to eat?" Crowley looked shocked. "Can't be _t_ _hat_ good."

"No, it is. I could read you some, if you liked."

Crowley shrugged sinuously. "Nah. But I think it's a good thing I came over. Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch, angel?"

Aziraphale grinned. "Now that you mention it, I would love a spot of lunch, dear boy. I assume you have a place in mind." He stepped out of the house and closed the door behind him.

"Course." Crowley grinned at him. "Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Oh, so many times," Aziraphale said with a roll of his eyes. " _What_ do you think I was just doing?"

"Some good deed, I'm sure. How was the fare there?"

"Haggis," the angel said dismissively. "I will never understand some people."

"Sounds just awful," Crowley drawled. "Did you actually eat it, or just go without?"

"I managed to find something decent."

"Here we are." Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale's arm to lead him into the restaurant and they found a table. "I was here a while ago and the food is up to your standards."

"What were you doing going out to eat, dear boy?"

Crowley shrugged. "Easy temptation. Anyway, figured I would try the food while I was. See if you'd like it."

"Oh, well." Aziraphale beamed. He looked a little flustered, and Crowley felt satisfied with the reaction. Crowley waved a waiter over and ordered for the two of them.

He leaned on the table and watched the angel as he began explaining about the books he'd been reading. It was calm, and it was warmth, and it was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This story has been in the process for a while, and I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Always feel free to leave a comment, even if it's just to say hi! I love talking to you guys and I'm in quarantine, so could totally use the distraction. :P


	2. Acting and Not Acting

_“Desires dictate our priorities, priorities shape our choices, and choices determine our actions.” - Dallin Oaks_

"You give an angel free will, and _this_ is what happens." Lucifer gestured to the Aziraphale.

His dinner partner smiled. "Hmm?"

"He's a glutton. And a bibliophile. Since you've given them free will, he's bought three bookshelves worth of books and eats in high priced places and does little else."

"I don't mind." The Almighty watched the pair. "The food is lovingly crafted by humanity, and so are the books. Isn't that loving the world?"

Lucifer scowled. "It's hedonism."

"And your demon? You won't say anything about him?"

"What about him? He gets drunk and gets high and sleeps. He can do that in Hell."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"You know, for a demon that doesn't eat, Crowley spends an awful lot of time in restaurants and bakeries."

Lucifer sent God an irritated look. "He's tempting an angel, that's all."

"Of course," She said blandly. "Tempts him much more often these last few years. Every other month, practically."

"Your angel isn't any better you know," he snapped.

"Am I supposed to be upset he's enjoying my creations?"

"Oh, you're claiming a demon as your own now?"

"I created all of you. Exactly as you were supposed to be."

Lucifer sniffed.

The two looked back to the pair they were covertly watching. One was enjoying a plate of honeyed creme brulee with an expertly paired dessert wine, while the other was nursing a dry red and watching the first. When their eyes met, they both smiled.

"I'm thinking of opening a bookshop," Aziraphale announced. "Thought that might be nice. I like being in bookshops, they're so..." The angel gestured.

"Filled with books?" Crowley offered.

"Exactly." Aziraphale beamed. "And I want one. Besides, if I get anymore books, I'd worry about a reprimand from Upstairs. You know how they are about personal possessions."

Crowley shrugged. "Go for it. You can have a base of operations. Where do you think you'll get it?"

"London. Not exactly sure where, but I'll find a place."

"I was thinking of getting a better base of operations," Crowley's mouth said with no input from his brain. "Maybe I'll set up in London too." He paused. "We do spend most of our time here," he explained, but Aziraphale was already beaming at him.

"That sounds wonderful, my dear boy. You could use a better place than your current flat."

"What's wrong with my flat?"

"It's _dingy._ "

"It is not! It's just... small. It's not like I spend that much time there."

"You sleep there for days on end."

"Huh." Crowley crossed his arms. "Well my _bed_ is fine, anyway."

"I'm sure. Maybe you would spend more time at home if you treated it like one, that's all."

"Nah. I'll probably be spending the time at your bookshop anyway, angel," Crowley said. Apparently being this close to Aziraphale meant his brain had lost all ability to function.

Aziraphale beamed again, and it was all the warmth he'd thought he'd lost in heaven.

"Just cause you'll never leave somewhere with that many books," he tried to defend himself.

"Of course," said the angel smugly.

Crowley wanted to do something demonic to wipe that smile off Aziraphale's face, but he couldn't quite come up with anything. It wasn't like Aziraphale didn't know him after almost 6000 years, he wouldn't be able to come up with anything shocking. He just rolled his eyes obviously enough the angel would see it past his glasses.

Creme brulee finished, Aziraphale waved over a waiter so they could pay for the meal.

"You'll come over to share a bottle of wine?" Axiraphale asked, as if Crowley ever said no. "I have a lovely bottle from 1654 which is supposed to be delightful."

"Sure," Crowley allowed, trying for cool and nonchalant after his recent unnecessary declarations.

"Wonderful."

The pair walked back to Aziraphale's place, and Crowley just enjoyed the easy intimacy. This was something he didn't have with anyone else. Sure, he'd had human friends throughout the ages. He'd even had human friends who knew exactly what he was instead of just waving their hand and assuming mysticism of some sort. But they could never become, for him, an old friend; his definition of 'old' far too vast for their lifespan, and their shared years never able to encompass his experiences.

But Aziraphale _knew_ him. He could count on him to be there, the rest of his life. The rest of eternity.

"Here we are," Aziraphale said as they reached his house. The door swung open on a dark room, but a snap of Aziraphale's fingers lit up the oil lamps and suffused the room with a warm light. Even the fireplace began to roar.

This, he thought, was the reason his flat could never be a home. It didn't have Aziraphale's warmth in it.

If you asked him, Aziraphale would tell you he was reading. The fact he hadn't turned a page in the last fifteen minutes was rather beside the fact, because the book was open on his lap and, if _s_ _omeone_ woke up, he would have his eyes back on the pages in front of him before anyone noticed he was staring at one particular sleeping demon sprawled out on his couch, covered in a tartan blanket.

Every time Crowley fell asleep at his place it was a sign of the staggering amount of trust Crowley placed in him. That he would be so vulnerable in front of him and, more, that he would trust Aziraphale to protect him.

Aziraphale watched Crowley sleep because... he _wanted_ to. The demon looked so much softer in sleep, red hair down around his face, eyes moving behind his lids in dreams. He had very much wanted to press a kiss to his forehead as he covered him, but this one urge Aziraphale had denied. It was the first time he hadn't given in to a craving that strong, but Crowley had trusted him with his sleeping form, and Aziraphale would not break that trust to overstep his bounds.

He'd found himself a slice of cake instead, then grabbed a book and read and watched Crowley sleep, and that had been alright.

Maybe if he bought a larger, more comfortable couch, Crowley would fall asleep here more often. It would be nice, to extend their meetings by this much. Even if it made it more dangerous.

But, Aziraphale reasoned, no demons would come looking for Crowley here. He should be well and truly safe from Hell, unless and until someone began to suspect them. Right now, he was safe. As for Heaven, well...

He would, of course, protect Crowley from Heaven, but if they saw him here, Hell might find out, and then Crowley would be in danger. Everything would get out of hand if Heaven saw him here.

That would be an advantage of the bookshop. He'd have a back door to sneak his demon out of when he spent the night, and a little bell that would warn them of newcomers.

Today, he just had to rely on Heaven's lack of oversight. It had stood them well for centuries, but it still made him nervous. He'd have to hurriedly wake his demon, encourage him out the window, and hope no one barged in but waited for him to unlock the door. So far, they hadn't had to deal with anyone walking in on them spending time together, but up until a few years ago, they had spent much less time in each others company.

The matter was becoming more pressing, and he couldn't let his reckless demon get hurt.

Crowley shifted in his sleep and muttered something, and Aziraphale wondered if he were waking. Just in case, he got up to put the kettle on, so Crowley would wake up to some tea.

"Angel?" The sleep heavy voice came as the water was boiling, and Aziraphale turned to watch his demon stretching with fond appreciation.

"Tea?"

"Sure," Crowley slithered to a more upright position. "I could do with some tea."

"Lovely." He prepared them both cups and brought it over before asking, "Good dreams?"

"Wouldn't sleep otherwise."

"What do you dream about?"

"Random stuff. Tonight I was starring in a production of Hamlet," Crowley said with a groan. "I still don't know why you liked it so much." He took a sip of his tea. "You could always try it yourself, angel."

Aziraphale shrugged. "I did, once. Didn't see the appeal. I'd rather spend the time with my books."

"You would."

They sat, happily drinking tea and spending the time together, and soon Crowley would leave and he wouldn't see him for maybe two months. Maybe three if something came up, and Aziraphale realized he really didn't _want_ to see Crowley leave. Not yet.

"Would you like to get breakfast, my dear?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked up and because he wasn't wearing his glasses, Aziraphale could see a few emotions run through them, but he wasn't able to catch them all. It didn't really matter, because Aziraphale _could_ read the way Crowley lounged 'nonchalantly' on his seat and said, "Yeah, sure, why not? I don't have anything to do."

And Aziraphale beamed, because he wasn't the only one who didn't want their time together to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up! Thank you so much to everyone who commented. :))) 
> 
> I'm having so much fun with this story, it keeps the pain of online classes away. :P


	3. Actions and Consequences

_"That's the thing about freewill: Every decision we make is a choice against something as much as it is for something else.” - Rebecca Serle_

Aziraphale glared at the note. It was a very official looking note, thick parchment, gold lettering, even a small, red, wax seal embossed with wings. It had everything one would expect from a Heavenly message.

It was the contents that were less than pleasing.

Alright, he could admit it; he _had_ been doing more miracles lately. But people _needed_ them and he had never seen any reason to forbear. How did it help heaven if a child, an innocent and rather incomplete human, got run over? Or died of fever? Or if a plague spread through a populace? Aziraphale certainly didn't see anything _good_ about random acts of destruction, and he didn't see anything _bad_ about helping the people he ran into. And he did always seem to be running into people that needed help, that felt comfort from confessing to him the troubles of their day to day existence. Were these people not asking, essentially, for help from God when they spoke to him? Were they not drawn to him by the sense of angelic peace he exuded? And if that were the case, the Almighty surely _intended_ for him to help when he could, and that was all there was to it.

And... he _wanted_ to help people. It warmed his own heart when he could make someone's life better. There was only one case where Aziraphale curbed his wants, usually by getting himself something sweet and delicious, and this had never seemed so awful a thing as to stop himself, or use his personal wellspring instead of Heaven's power.

Apparently to Heaven, it was. He had been _firmly_ reprimanded against overuse of his miracles, especially for frivolities like "preparing a perfect cup of tea", which, truly, was the least frivolous of acts. Apparently he would be "under observation" for the next few years, to ensure he wasn't "overstepping his duties".

Aziraphale sighed. Heaven had no idea what went on on Earth. They avoided it as much as possible. How could Gabriel know what miracles were or weren't needed? The Almighty gave him his abilities for a reason.

And he had good reasons to not want to be under observation. And the main one knocked on his door, interrupting his angry contemplation.

Aziraphale took a breath and went to the door. Crowley could not be seen with him. As much as it hurt, as much as he wanted to spend time with him, Crowley had to leave.

He opened the door, and couldn't help but smile at the sight of his demon, lounging against the entry way, looking all kinds of suave.

Crowley sent him a grin. "Hey, angel. Guess who got another portrait of themselves?"

Aziraphale chuckled. "Who did it this time?"

"Fuseli. Have you seen his works yet? They have a very spooky theme, I love it."

"You'll have to show me sometime," Aziraphale said, before remembering that he was supposed to be getting rid of him, not encouraging him to take him out again. "But it'll have to be sometime else, I'm afraid. Terribly busy."

"Oh." Crowley looked... hurt. And taken aback. Had he really never turned down an invitation? Thinking back, Aziraphale had to admit that he _hadn't_. Neither had Crowley. They always had time for each other. "Maybe tomorrow?"

Aziraphale looked away. He didn't want to hurt Crowley. Something in him hurt in response, and a wholly different part hurt because he didn't want to turn him down at all.

"Angel?"

"I think it would be best, dear boy, if we spend some time apart."

"What? Why?"

"If anyone finds you here -"

"That again? I thought we were past that. No one's going to find me, angel. _No one's_ paying attention."

"Not forever," Aziraphale assured quickly. He didn't want to lose Crowley. He just needed him safe. "My bookshop will be safer."

"Your _bookshop_?" Crowley scowled at him. "It's been ten years since you first came up with the idea. And you haven't done anything yet."

"Well I _will_."

Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Don't patronize me, Crowley. I'll get it done."

"You've been saying that for a _very long time_. Look, how about we just be extra careful until you get the shop done?"

"No." And it hurt to say, and to think about not seeing him. But he had to protect him. Crowley didn't think enough about his safety. "We can't do that. Just... I'll let you know when it's done."

Crowley crossed his arms. "Fine! See you in a few decades, then, angel!" He turned and stalked off, and Aziraphale watched and felt, for the first time, as if he wanted to cry.

Crowley was getting drunk. He thought it was appropriate, and he'd been getting drunk regularly for the past three years.

It wasn't, obviously, because Aziraphale hadn't contacted him in three years. It wasn't because he'd been sent away like he didn't even matter. He didn't care that his only real friend was just _fine_ not seeing him for years, maybe even decades, while he got around to starting that stupid bookshop that couldn't come into existence fast enough.

He was getting drunk because he wanted to, and that was _all_. He'd spent years without contact with Aziraphale before, so it shouldn't be an issue.

Of course, it'd been a while since that had happened. The last tweny-ish years they'd been in contact regularly, without even the guise of the Arrangement to bring them together. They'd just done it because they wanted to, and no one was looking.

The worst part was that Aziraphale _still_ wanted to. Crowley could tell. Something must have scared him enough to try to hide their friendship, and Crowley couldn't figure out what.

Had someone mentioned something? Had he gotten an unexpected visit from management? What could be more important than their time together? Didn't Aziraphale know he would protect him from anyone, Above or Below, with his life?

The whole thing was stupid.

Crowley finished off another bottle and tossed it. Didn't really matter where it ended up, the entire country had lost its fucking mind. People were being beheaded without any kind of consideration, and he'd gotten a commendation for it because he'd decided to get drunk in Paris, away from accidentally running into Aziraphale and where Fuseli had been _supposed_ to meet him on a trip.

Fuseli had failed to appear, which made Crowley's mood even worse for the first few months. Some kind of marital difficulties or some other such nonsense.

He made his way through a crowd of humans doing what humans were famous for doing; delighting in another's misery. The whole crowd of them were waiting for another person to be dragged from the Bastille and beheaded in front of them like a spectacle, uncaring that lives were ending, potential was being lost, and so many were being hurt.

Crowley knew there were problems here, things that should have been fixed, a society that could have been better, and people who had been hurt. But was _this_ truly better? The murder of those who had had as little choice in their place of birth as the ones crying for their blood? How many of these people couldn't have done something, even if they'd wanted to? Women and children who had no say in any kind of political or fiscal matters. How many of them _would_ have helped if they'd known how?

He didn't know.

He supposed he never would.

"- a british aristocrat, wandering around in his white outfit like -"

Crowley froze.

And then he sobered up.

"- they'll be bringing him out next."

He didn't stop to think about what he should do. Aziraphale was in trouble. In fact, now that he was paying attention he could feel him nearby. A curse escaped his lips as he hurried into the prison, a few miracles getting him past all the guards unseen.

He paused outside the door to the cell.

He straightened his outfit.

He touched up his hair.

Only then did he stop time and enter.

"Animals," Aziraphale was saying.

Crowley lounged on an available piece of wall. "Animals don't kill each other with fancy machines, angel. Only humans do that."

"Crowley." Aziraphale whirled to face him, small smile on his face. "Oh, good lord." His eyes traveled up and down his form.

"What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? What happened to the bookshop?" Crowley raised an eyebrow. Surely Aziraphale hadn't forgotten about it?

Aziraphale looked down. "I'm working on it. I got... peckish."

"Peckish?"

"Well if you must know, it's the crepes." Aziraphale sat down on the seat provided, not really looking at him. "Can't get decent ones anywhere but Paris... and the brioche."

"So you just," Crowley tried to control the disbelief in his voice. "Just popped across the channel during a Revolution because you wanted something to nibble on? Dressed like that?" He gestured at... all of Aziraphale.

"I _have_ standards," the angel huffed. He gave Crowley a look. "I _had_ heard they were getting a _bit_ carried away, but..."

"Yeah, this isn't 'carried away', angel. This is cutting off lots of people's heads very efficiently with a big head cutting off machine." Crowley rolled his eyes. "Why don't you perform another miracle and go home?"

The angel sighed. "I was _reprimanded_ for overusing miracles. Apparently I've been too 'frivolous' recently. Doing _too much_ good, somehow. I even got here myself, without any miracles."

"Lucky for you I was here," Crowley said dryly.

"Why _are_ you here?" Aziraphale asked, as if he'd never showed up to save him before. The real question should be why _wouldn't_ he be here?

" _I_ got a commendation for outstanding job performance."

Aziraphale gasped. "This isn't _your_ demonic work?"

"What? No!" Crowley quickly defended. _That_ would be a surefire way to get on the angel's bad side. Not only did he not want Aziraphale thinking he was capable of this kind of creative murder, the angel should at least know he would never endanger Aziraphale's favorite bakeries and wineries. "Ugh. The humans came up with it themselves, I was just in the area and them Downstairs thought a demon _had_ to be responsible."

Aziraphale looked slightly embarrassed by way of apology.

The demon sighed and snapped his fingers and the manacles came off.

Aziraphale beamed at him, and Crowley scowled in response so that he didn't smile back. He was, after all, still rather upset with the man.

"Well, I suppose -"

"Wait," Crowley cut him off with a frown as another thought came to him. "When did you get reprimanded?"

"Oh." Aziraphale fidgeted with his waistcoat. "About three years ago now."

"Three - that's why you sent me away?" Crowley stood up, and Aziraphale refused to look at him instead inspecting the cell with great interest. "One little reprimand and you're worried -"

"It wasn't just a _reprimand_ , my dear. It was a very official note from Gabriel letting me know I'm under 'close observation'. You are _not_ safe -"

"Ah, a note! Tell me, how many times have you seen them in person since?"

"Well, it, you know... once."

"Once," Crowley repeated.

"But it's more than usual!"

"Once! In three years, angel!"

"Oh." Aziraphale looked flustered, and sad, and hurt.

So Crowley took a breath. "Look, why don't we talk about it over lunch?"

Aziraphale gave him a grateful look.

"But not looking like that. You're just asking for trouble."

The angel considered his clothes and sighed. "Fine. Whatever you think will work."

Crowley's brain froze.

Just for a second.

It was a lot of power. And a lot of trust he didn't want to break. In the end, though far more scandalous options presented themselves, Crowley switched Aziraphale's clothes with the guard's.

The angel smoothed it out and came to stand next to him, and they watched as Crowley turned time back on with a snap of his fingers, and the guard was dragged out.

Aziraphale just looked amused.

Little bastard.

"So lunch? They do delightful crepes here," Aziraphale said.

Crowley grinned back. "Sure. How's the bookshop going?"

"I have to admit something, dear boy," Aziraphale said as they headed out. "I'm afraid I've realized I have no idea what owning a bookshop entails. People have been mentioning all sorts of licenses and it just goes over my head."

"Well, lucky for you, angel, I know quite a bit about businesses. How about I help you start it up?"

Aziraphale frowned.

"I promise to be extra careful. No one will know I'm there."

" _Crowley_."

"They're not even there that often. If I even _think_ there's a celestial presence, I'll disappear."

"I - I suppose. Yes, that would be alright."

"Great." Crowley smiled at his angel, and the angel beamed back.

"I am concerned about this game."

"Oh?" The Almighty raised an eyebrow at Her partner and took a sip of wine.

"Have you considered they may fall in love with each other instead of humanity?" Lucifer glared at Her.

"That may well happen, yes." She sounded innocent, as if She didn't know the problems that could cause.

"Have you thought that they can't be together anywhere _other_ than Earth?"

"At the moment, yes."

"At the - what the Hell does that even mean?" Lucifer scowled at his dinner partner, who sighed.

"I don't see why you're so upset."

"I'm _upset_ because the bet is about loving humanity, not loving the earth because it's the only refuge available to them!"

The Almighty sighed and put down her fork. "Eat, my child. You never enjoy yourself."

"I'm not _here_ to enjoy myself. I'm here because the game is rigged." Lucifer ignored the beautiful meal that had been put in front of him. He hadn't ordered.

They never did.

"You decide the test, child. How can the game be rigged?"

"I've already decided it! I've put it into motion, and now -"

"Then change it. I believe that is under your purview. It's only been a few decades."

Lucifer took a sip of wine. The wine, he would drink, its tartness and delicate floral notes pleasing enough. "Building these kinds of things takes time and delicacy. We're testing an angel and a demon. The stakes have to be higher, and the usual help can't know they're being used."

The Almighty sighed. "I know. I've seen your plans."

"So?"

"Yes. Build a safe haven for them. See what happens." She shrugged. "It won't change anything."

Lucifer snorted. "Oh, I think it will." He finished his wine and put it down, considering. "Crowley's always loved the stars. That'll do."

"I've always loved the stars myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy! How's everyone's quarantine going? Mine is 'avoiding doing schoolwork'.
> 
> The classic Bastille scene. :) I'm trying to stay pretty close to the canon script where appropriate. Leave me a comment if you liked it!


	4. Indulgences

_“A complete stranger has the capacity to alter the life of another irrevocably. This domino effect has the capacity to change the course of an entire world. That is what life is; a chain reaction of individuals colliding with others and influencing their lives without realizing it. A decision that seems minuscule to you, may be monumental to the fate of the world.” ― J.D. Stroube_

"Hail Satan."

Crowley waved nervously. He was heading to meet Aziraphale. The shop was going to open, and they were going to celebrate today and now he was being slowed down because of some asshole.

Crowley miracled the chocolates and fancy wine away where he could get them later and went over.

He didn't like other demons this close to his angel. They were on the edge of London, but that was close enough. Out of the country would be better. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

Hastur sniffed. "I'm just working on a priest in the church nearby. You wouldn't understand that kind of craftsmanship."

Crowley shrugged. "Not really my thing."

"What are you doing then?"

"Oh, it's actually really cool. I'm working on breaking down the postal system. Yeah?" He grinned widely.

Hastur just looked at him. His 14th century mind just didn't get it.

If it had been another demon, Crowley wouldn't have been as bothered, but Hastur was a Duke of Hell. You didn't get a position in Hell without being a sadist of some sort. It was one of the reasons Crowley was so low in the hierarchy.

"Anyway. Shouldn't take you too long, eh?"

Hastur shrugged. "Eager to get rid of supervision, Crowley?"

" _Me?_ I'm offended. I... I wanted to know if you had time for a drink." Crowley saved himself. No doubt Hastur would just -

"A drink?"

"Yeah. Get some wine, you know, make an evening of it. You've been drunk before, right?"

"No. I don't drink human drinks."

There it was.

Crowley shrugged. "Your loss."

"Is that what you do up here?"

"Yeah, I enjoy a good evening."

Hastur humphed. "You would." He glanced up. "Rather thought you'd spend most of your time in the stars, though. You did always like them. I don't think anyone even looks at them anymore."

Crowley looked up too. "I visit sometimes."

"Better than being here, anyway," Hastur sneered at the street. "I'll be seeing you later."

Crowley watched as the demon sank beneath the street and breathed out a sigh of relief. He'd only be a _little_ late.

Aziraphale looked around his shop with a smile. It had taken a _long_ time to get everything just right, at least in the human meaning of the term. Aziraphale had even built it with anti-observation miracles in the foundations and walls. Subtle things that would encourage people, angels, demons and others to simply look past the shop. It would make it safer when Crowley came to stay. In fact, the demon should have already been here.

They had begun to see each other more often, as if they both had been hurt so horribly during the three years apart and their closeness was the only way to heal and keep the wound from reopening. 'Helping with the bookshop' was the usual excuse, but it didn't escape either of their notice that they didn't even discuss the bookshop at all during most of their monthly meetings. If they got together in the evening, Crowley stayed the night eight times out of ten, and Aziraphale invited him to breakfast maybe half the time he did.

Aziraphale had been visited by Heaven a whole two times since the note. Crowley had laughed after the second visit, and reiterated that they had nothing to worry about.

Aziraphale had worried for the next few months that it had only been by chance that Gabriel hadn't run into Crowley.

But if Crowley hadn't been with him, he never would have gotten the bookshop open so fast, and he wouldn't have seen Crowley for... for far too long.

The three years had been interminable.

He felt the presence of celestial beings and he turned with a smile as the door opened.

Aziraphale's face fell.

It was _not_ Crowley come to congratulate and celebrate with him.

It was Gabriel. And his hanger on, Sandalphon.

Gabriel smiled that stupid fake smile. Aziraphale wasn't sure if it was because Gabriel didn't actually have any emotions at all and had no idea what people actually were supposed to do with their faces, or because Gabriel thought angels were supposed to be happy and polite and had somehow taken that to unnatural levels.

Maybe it was Aziraphale, though, far too used to natural human emotion.

His own fake smile was not nearly as unnaturally wide. It was, instead, a little nervous, not completely masking the way his heart had begun to race.

He was so _so_ lucky Crowley was late, but he was still coming.

"Gabriel. Always a pleasure. Can I help you?"

"Aziraphale! Just the angel I wanted to see. We are here with good news!"

"Oh? How lovely."

"We are bringing you home!"

"Promoting you back upstairs," Sandalphon clarified.

"Oh." His smile slipped. "I'm opening this bookshop..."

"Yes! It's an excellent idea," Gabriel agreed enthusiastically. "Whoever replaces you down here can use it as a base of operations."

"Use _my_ bookshop?" Aziraphale looked aghast.

Gabriel and Sandalphon waited for a second, then Gabriel tried to bring out the joy he wasn't seeing. "You're being promoted, Aziraphale! You get to _come home_."

"Can't imagine why anyone would want to stay here five minutes longer than they have to," Sandalphon said in a voice Aziraphale was rapidly classifying as 'nasty'.

"Well, Aziraphale has been here over 5000 years. We must commend such devotion to duty." Gabriel pulled out a box and opened it to reveal a golden medal.

Aziraphale frowned now. "I don't want a medal. I want -"

"That's very noble of you," Gabriel said, and put the medal on his neck.

Aziraphale looked away, hoping to find anything to get him out of this. Leaving Earth was the worst thing he could imagine. There was no good food in Heaven. No restaurants with crepes or sushi. No good music or musicals. No books or bookshops.

No Crowley.

The demon who had finally appeared in the doorway, carrying a bottle of wine and a fancy looking box, not caring about the _archangel_ in the shop. Silly reckless demon.

Aziraphale felt his heart break. He couldn't imagine not seeing Crowley every month. There had to be something to keep him here.

"But - but only I can thwart the wiles of the demon Crowley," Aziraphale tried.

Crowley frowned and pointed to the box and mouthed _chocolates_.

He sent him a look of fond exasperation that said _catch up_ and _why are you still here_ before looking back to Gabriel and Sandalphon.

"I'm sure whoever replaces you will be just as good at thwarting Crowley. Michael perhaps," Gabriel said with that stupid smile on his face.

A glance told Aziraphale that Crowley had, in fact, caught up. He looked horrified and shocked. _Michael's a wanker_ he mouthed to him.

Aziraphale fought the urge to roll his eyes. The only thing that stopped him was the fear that Gabriel would turn around and notice his demon. And then what? What would happen? Would Gabriel attack him?

Aziraphale wouldn't be able to let that happen.

They'd both die.

Why was he still _here_?

"Michael doesn't know him. He's been down here as long as I have and he's... cunning and wily and smart and brilliant and - oh..." Aziraphale cut himself off because the next thing about to come out of his mouth had been 'beautiful'. And while it was true, it wouldn't help his cause.

Gabriel must have caught something because his fake smile turned a little curious, and an eyebrow rose. "It almost sounds like you like him."

"No! Obviously not," Aziraphale hurried to defend. "He's my opponent, and - and I loathe him." Aziraphale glanced to where Crowley had been, to find he had disappeared. Relief flowed through him, and a second later worry followed it. Crowley hadn't believed him saying he loathed him, had he? "But I respect a worthy opponent," he continued. "Which he isn't! Because he's a demon and I can't respect a demon. Or like one, or -"

"Yes, you'll be an asset back at head office," Gabriel cut off his rambling. He nodded firmly.

Aziraphale felt his soul plummet. He was being taken away. It was real. And the last thing Crowley would hear from him would be that he loathed him.

"Are we going straight away?" he asked in a small voice.

"No, I'm stopping at the tailor's. Then we'll go."

Aziraphale nodded. "I see. I'll be here..."

Crowley paced in irritation. They were trying to take his angel away from him. And he had no doubt Aziraphale didn't want to go. He was so excited about the bookstore. And - and Crowley wouldn't be able to _handle_ it if Aziraphale left. The thought of being alone on Earth, with all of Michael for company, hurt his soul. It was a vast cold landscape without any of Aziraphale's sense of home and safety and comfort.

It was just _wrong_.

And it came down to him to thwart the wiles of Heaven and keep Aziraphale where he belonged.

He caught a glimpse of that prick walking and he followed them to a tailor.

Crowley tapped a finger against his lips. A thought was forming. In fact, a whole plan was forming.

A grin spread across his face as he miracled his way into the backroom of the tailorshop.

A mannequin and two yards of fabric later, he had a fairly decent fake henchman that he situated outside the window where Gabriel was getting fit and he started the show.

He chuckled after it was done.

Gabriel had been sure to buy it hook, line and sinker. And if those bastards _still_ took away Aziraphale, then he would... he'd... Crowley stopped next to where he'd left his gifts for his angel.

What could he do? He couldn't just fight his way into Heaven and steal Aziraphale away. They would both be in trouble and there'd be no where to run.

Crowley tilted his head back and looked up at the sky.

No where to run.

Maybe there _was_ somewhere to run. Or there could be.

Space was vast.

He would know, having made more than a few stars himself. And, as Hastur had pointed out, no one paid any attention to them. They could probably hide there for eons and no one would find them. After a while, if they weren't interfering in anything, Crowley would bet they'd stop looking.

As long as everything looked good on paper, Heaven and Hell wouldn't bother to search the endless expanse of space to find them. Maybe someone would do a flythrough every hundred years just to say they'd looked, but nothing more than that. And if that was all, there were ways to mask celestial energy.

Crowley shook his head to clear it, but it didn't get rid of the thought. The knowledge that he'd been hit with.

Things could go wrong. They almost had. They still might. And he had nowhere they could go and nothing he could do if they did.

It was not a good thought.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale beamed at him when the demon returned, still holding the wine and fancy box. Then he frowned at him. "What the _Hell_ were you thinking? Hanging around like that? They could have _seen_ you!"

Crowley shrugged sinuously. "No worries angel. They'd just have seen a demon tempting."

"They could have hurt you!"

"They didn't! Besides, it's a good thing I was there or you'd be up singing celestial harmonies."

Aziraphale gave him a look. "What did you _do_?"

"Nothing!" The demon put his hands up innocently. "All I did was suggest you were the only reason I hadn't gotten away with turning the whole world to Satanism. He didn't even know I knew he was there."

Aziraphale glared at the demon for just a second more before relenting.

He didn't, actually, want to be in Heaven singing with the heavenly choirs or whatever it was they did up there.

"You were _safe_?"

"I promised I would be, didn't I? Relax, angel. All under control." Crowley relaxed at the acceptance of his behavior and held out the box. "I got us something to celebrate."

"Oh?" Aziraphale went over. He could only hope his demon wouldn't do anything rash. "What is it?"

"I went to Belgium last month and found a wonderful chocolatier. I think you'll like these. Some of them are made with gold."

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale finally smiled. "You're always indulging me. Come to the back. And, remember, if anyone comes in -"

"I know, I know, angel. Out the back. No staying around to listen or be a nuisance, just leave," Crowley said dutifully.

"What was that? How would you test them if Aziraphale is stuck in Heaven?"

The Almighty sighed. "You've been incredibly irritable, my child. Is such a long game grating on you?"

"Of course not." Lucifer crossed his arms. "I'm fine with a long game. I'm _perfect_ with a long game. But your people tried to bring him back to Heaven! I don't want you claiming Aziraphale couldn't make a decision because he's somewhere lost in the bureacracy."

"Mm. I do love the way humans prepare food, don't you?" She smiled at him as she ate a bite of her filet mignon.

"You keep hoping to get me to appreciate these Earth dwellers by showing me their arts, but I don't like food. I'm not your angel."

She laughed. "For your information, I didn't plan that. They acted on their own. It might surprise you, but it was actually meant as a kindness."

Lucifer stared her down. "They can't act on their own. They're regular angels!"

"They, too, have lived six thousand years. They aren't stuck in amber, my child, just like you aren't, just like your demons aren't."

"They don't have free will. Don't make me laugh," he sneered. "The deal goes through however Aziraphale fails to save humanity."

" _That_ is understood." The Almighty pursed Her lips. "You forget what you were like before I gave you free will, child. You weren't an automaton. You still asked questions. But your curiosity wasn't powerful enough for you to break the rules. And, you were still _very_ young."

Lucifer scoffed. " _My_ demons do what they're told."

"Are you sure? Crowley started the Arrangement before our game." She raised an eyebrow. "Do you truly believe they weren't in love before this?"

"Crowley has been on Earth for six thousand years. He has had enough experience with the vivid emotional landscape that your free creatures have to have had some of it rub off on him."

"Do you think that made him worse? Less important?"

"Hell no! Made him bloody useful."

The Almighty tapped her lips. "So... free will is an admirable quality."

Lucifer sent her a sharp look. "I'm not going to love your humans. You could just give us _all_ free will."

"Is that truly what you want?"

Lucifer opened his mouth, then stopped. He struggled with his thoughts before finally sighing. "No. I do not. But if you're right, we may be heading that way anyway. You won't have enough realms to hold them all."

The Almighty raised one slender shoulder. "I don't think it will come to that. In any case, we have plenty of time. No one else spends any time on Earth at all."

Lucifer looked around. "I don't get what's so special about it all. That those two like it so much."

"Well, you've never tried anything here. You've never spent as much time topside as you have since we started our game." She gestured to his plate. "If you are truly curious."

There was nothing but innocence in Her eyes, but he didn't trust it.

But, the only problem was, he _was_ truly curious. And he hadn't tried human food in a few millenium.

He thoughtfully cut a small bite of his filet mignon, and put it in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't include Crowley's masquerade as I didn't think I could add anything to the scene. If you still haven't read the script for the bookshop opening scene, you can find it here: https://221blilli.tumblr.com/post/185506986009/im-not-saying-that-we-were-robbed-im-just (I didn't make it a hyperlink, just copy and paste)
> 
> I love reading all your comments!! :)


	5. Things We Can Never Have

_“We are slaves_  
_to the dictates of free will.” - Vijay Fafat_

"Why are we here?" Lucifer took in the walls hung with art as they meandered down the hallway. He was following the Almighty's lead, as She had chosen the location. Of course, She always chose the location, but usually it was a nice dinner while they could watch their current game fall in love.

Not really the intent, but Lucifer was enjoying the show. There was just something so fascinating about the two's relationship.

"I thought you'd enjoy this, my child" the Almighty said, smiling. "They have a whole display on devils and demons. I think I saw one with the head of a horse."

Lucifer chuckled, despite himself and who he was talking to. "The head of a horse? That's not of me personally, is it?" Alright, maybe he liked seeing paintings of himself. Vanity was a sin, right? Nothing wrong with liking that one little thing humans did.

"Not that one. But you'll like the ones that are."

They entered the room and walked over to the first painting.

"Shoot, I think I know this guy."

The Almighty laughed, and his lips twitched upwards as well.

The painting showed a thin limbed fellow with shimmery black skin and random spikes, feet like talons and a face like a bat's, with batlike wings extending behind him. On his stomach was another face in white.

"Humans have quite the imagination, don't they?"

Lucifer shrugged. "They just mash together the things you've made. They don't truly _create_."

The Almighty shrugged and they moved to the next. This showed a devil playing a fiddle while a man reclined on the same bed.

"Is this supposed to be me?"

The Almighty peered closer, attempting to appear serious. "I think so. Doesn't quite capture your good looks, I'm afraid."

Lucifer fought not to smile. "The sex must have been pretty bad, going by the expression."

They wandered for a while, giving critique and making fun. Lucifer paused at a picture titled _The Fall of the Damned_ and stared at it for a while. All he said on it was, "wasn't quite like that," and they moved on without another word.

The event had been pleasant, oddly enough. No barbs between them, or expectations. Just paintings and mindless comments.

He almost didn't want it to end.

But they eventually finished their go around the room, and Lucifer finally asked, "so where are our players? I figured we'd see them here."

"Oh," the Almighty shrugged. "We won't get a good look at them today. Crowley found a bundle in a back alley and I'm afraid they're both in a bit of panic at the moment."

Lucifer froze. "What? Found a _what_?"

The Almighty smiled.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley pounded on the door to the shop, which was turned primly to 'Closed'.

Which made sense, given it was evening and Aziraphale didn't technically need to sell anything.

The door didn't open and he knocked harder.

There were many thoughts running through Crowley's head, most along the lines of _what the fuck have I done_ and _what the fuck do i do now_ , but he was hard put to truly hear any of them over the screaming that came from the bundle in his arms.

The door finally opened, and the angel took one look at Crowley, the bundle, the screaming, and the panic the demon was sure was writ plain across his face and stood back without a word to let him in.

Crowley hurried into the shop and the screaming didn't stop.

"Have you fed it?" Aziraphale asked, pitching his voice to be heard as he closed and locked the door.

"Fed it?" Crowley stared at Aziraphale blankly.

"Oh for goodness sake." Aziraphale took the infant who wailed harder and went to the kitchen, the demon following along without a word. When the angel miracled a small cup of milk, his brain finally made the connection.

"Oh! Milk! Wait, angel, can they have normal milk?"

Aziraphale froze and turned to look at him. "I'm sure I don't know."

They stared at each other, then the infant.

"What do I do?" Crowley wailed, hands going to his hair.

"Why do you even have it?"

"It was on its own! I couldn't just leave it there!" And wasn't that the stupidest thing ever. Why couldn't he just _leave it there?_

The infant screamed louder.

"Can't you just give it to someone?" Aziraphale asked. "Surely -"

"What, now? At _night_?"

Aziraphale quieted and stared with dawning horror at the baby.

At least, Crowley thought, he wasn't the only one now thinking drowned out thoughts along the lines of _what the fuck have I done_ and _what the fuck do I do now_.

He was a demon. He _should_ have just left the baby there to either die or be saved by another human. He shouldn't have been in the slightest bit concerned about this child, or any child.

None of that had mattered when he'd heard that sad wail. Crowley had had to stop and find the child left next to the garbage of all places. Even after all these millennia, the way humans looked at each other's lives shocked him. A life should never be thrown out with the trash. So he'd _had_ to pick the child up. And then he'd had no place to go but here, to Aziraphale, who would hopefully know what to do.

"I'll just miracle up human milk," Aziraphale announced, and Crowley had no doubt the milk was now what it was supposed to be, but there was a slight problem -

"It can't drink out of a cup, angel."

Aziraphale glared at the cup.

It did not transform.

Maybe because Aziraphale had no idea what it should transform to. Neither did Crowley, but he gave the cup a glare of his own, for good measure.

It continued to be a cup.

And the baby continued to scream.

Aziraphale rubbed his temple with one hand. "Here, hold it." He held out the screaming thing to Crowley, who awkwardly accepted it and the noise.

"Maybe - maybe if the top was smaller. The mouth hole. Y'know, so it could fit in its mouth," Crowley offered.

"Sort of like a funnel," Aziraphale agreed, and the cup transformed. He handed this over to Crowley as well, who held it and the baby awkwardly and tried to figure out exactly how to get everything to fit together right.

It did not fit together right.

The baby, of course, continued to scream.

Aziraphale took the baby.

Crowley gently tipped some milk into its mouth.

And suddenly, blessedly, there was silence.

They stood there, _like two idiots_ , thought Crowley. Aziraphale just held it, and Crowley poured tiny amounts of milk so the baby could drink, mouthful by mouthful. It took a while, but the baby didn't even finish half the cup, though the word 'cup' had to be used very loosely at this point.

When it was done, they had a moment or two of relief, and then -

The baby started crying.

Crowley groaned. "What now?"

"I don't know!" Aziraphale held up the baby away from himself.

"Please stop crying," Crowley begged. "Just be quiet for a little while? I'll get you toys if you stop crying."

The baby did not stop crying.

"Is it clean?" Aziraphale asked desperately.

Crowley waved his hand in confusion, then snapped his fingers.

The baby paused, whimpered, and yawned.

"Oh, please let it fall asleep," Aziraphale begged.

"It can't fall asleep when you're holding it like that," Crowley gestured again.

Aziraphale pushed the baby into his arms. "You took it. You put it to sleep."

Crowley adjusted the baby until was comfortably laying in his arms. It was starting to get upset again. "Alright, alright." He tried to remember what he'd seen people do with babies, then began to pace around the bookshop. A look at Aziraphale showed no help from that corner - his angel was fussily cleaning the backroom.

Maybe he could sing? Lullabies were a thing.

Crowley looked down at the baby who would yawn and then whimper unhappily, and began to sing softly.

It took a long time before the baby fell asleep in his arms. Longer than he'd have liked, anyway. Once it was sleeping he sank into the couch that Aziraphale had put into the room specifically for them to drink wine on, lay the baby against his chest, and went to sleep.

Aziraphale paused. He'd meant to grab them both wine, but it looked like Crowley wouldn't be drinking any just then.

He watched him sleep with a warm feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite place, but it felt good and it hurt all at the same time. He miracled a tartan blanket instead of the wine he had taken and carefully tucked it around the pair.

The baby, which Aziraphale couldn't tell if it was female or male, or even what age it was, lay contentedly against Crowley's chest. Crowley was curled protectively around it, like he'd protected the children he'd snuck onto the ark, and the ones he'd hid in safe houses during the Thirty Years War.

This was the first time, however, that Crowley had ever taken one _home_. That implied a much longer commitment to one person, it implied caring and home, and Crowley had never gone for that. Maybe he didn't realize what it meant to take in a child, one that would be privy to their miracles and immortality and have to be hidden when any member of their races were around. The thought of what the other demons might do if they found it, to either Crowley or the baby itself, was, well, not a pleasant one.

No. He'd have to convince Crowley to find a family for it. What would either of them do with a baby, anyway? It certainly couldn't be here, running grubby hands across his priceless books, or in Crowley's practically bare flat. Aziraphale tried to imagine the flat he'd seen only once inundated with children's toys, clothes, and other minutae and simply couldn't.

Crowley shifted in his sleep and pulled the child closer and Aziraphale sighed. The talk, he suspected, would be a hard one.

Crowley woke to crying.

He groaned and opened his eyes before realizing that the baby was no longer on his chest.

The next second he was wide awake, ready to fight whatever had taken the baby from him. Then he saw Aziraphale.

Holding a fussy baby and trying desperately to rock it back to sleep.

His entire body breathed out a sigh of relief.

It was safe. Everything was alright.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley walked over to his angel. "Need help?"

Aziraphale smiled at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, my dear. I'm afraid I don't have a handle on children."

Crowley held out his arms and received an armful of baby which he began to rock gently and sing to.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's tone was cautious and it made Crowley tense and hug the baby tighter. "You know we can't keep it, right?"

Crowley took a step back. "Why not? Look, it's not crying anymore. It won't be a bother."

"Oh, Crowley." There was pity and sympathy and all sorts of soft and sad things on Aziraphale's face that he didn't want to see. "What will you do with it when Hell comes with a message? This isn't a monthly meeting, it'll be with you always. You can't shove it in a back room and hope it doesn't start crying."

"But... I can miracle it here?" His own tone was pleading. Was this too much to ask? "I can't just leave it in an orphanage alone."

"I'm sure there will be a nice family looking to adopt when you go in who will fall absolutely in love with it." Aziraphale sighed. "Angels would be just as dangerous for him as demons."

Crowley held the baby to his chest. "But... but I _want_ it..."

"I know, my dear. I'm sorry."

Crowley blinked a few times, quickly. He shouldn't be crying about the baby. A proper demon wouldn't cry. A proper demon wouldn't have even picked it up.

"Do you want me to take him?" Aziraphale asked gently, so gently.

Crowley shook his head. "I can do it, angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I will focus on my homework and post my story regularly! :)))  
> My brand new hyperfixation: lol
> 
> \-------------
> 
> So, I'm still unsure of this chapter, but I do like what it does, and also I feel wanted to do a Crowley/children thing because we all know he likes them.   
> Remember to leave a comment. :) They give me warm fuzzy feelings.


	6. Safety and Home

_"Life is like a game of cards. The hand you are dealt is determinism; the way you play it is free will." - Jawaharlal Nehru_

Crowley was on a small planet next to Alpha Centauri. It was a pleasant place, vaguely earth like in atmosphere. It contained an extensive underground cave system, with rivers flowing through it and sky lights and beautiful natural sculptures.

There were no plants.

There were no animals.

There was only Crowley, cleaning - without miracles - the main room inside the house he had miracled.

The planet, which he called Safety, and Refuge, and Last Resort, but mostly Haven, was entirely ensconced in an enormous set of miracles to make it look incredibly ordinary.

It had been a good bit of work and it had taken a while. The miracles had to be woven into each other in such a way that no one knew there had been any miracles done at all. They gave off the most incredibly ordinary feeling that would hide the presence of anything Crowley wanted, like say, for example, a safe refuge for him and Aziraphale, or a child, or a pond of ducks.

His first bit of work, the enclosing miracles, had taken a few months. He'd had to use entirely personal energy for it, so it had been exhausting. There were, after all, two types of miracles: the usual kind, that he and Aziraphale used most often - call on the power of Heaven or Hell to do an act, which was an endless source of power but also could be very easily tracked - and the one that derived its source from his own personal energy stores - which they used less often, but came in handy when doing some work for the other; it would have been an impossible Arrangement had every miracle been tracked. So it had been a lonely few months, for both him and his angel, and he'd slept another month after to restore his personal store. Here, of course. Where he was safe.

Aziraphale had let him grieve for a child he hadn't known he wanted until he held it to his chest, and Crowley had kept Haven secret.

What would he have said? "I have a place of last resort for the two of us to run to if anything happens?" He didn't know how to explain that he was such a disaster of a demon that he was going to be caught by Hell any moment now for his failure. For his friendship with Aziraphale. For how he cared for people. For being too weak to protect himself or Aziraphale if anything happened. Maybe if he wasn't so incompetent, he wouldn't have to build a bolthole. He'd simply grab power in Hell and make it so no one ever touched him _or_ his angel.

But he wasn't a proper demon. He was different and he didn't know why or how, but he knew that it was a dangerous thing to be.

Hell didn't actually like disobedience or thinking for oneself or rebelling in general. That was for Lucifer alone. The rest of them were expected to just fall in line.

And Crowley. Could. Not. Do that.

So he built his Haven. Had been building it and perfecting it for the past two decades or so.

The child was an adult now. A happy adult. Crowley made sure of it. It didn't know anything of Heaven or Hell or fear or staying hidden. And that, he thought, was what was best for it.

Crowley sighed as he finished organizing the place. He liked to come here to unwind. It was more comfortable than his flat, which he kept mostly for show now as he preferred to sleep here where he felt safe, but it was less warm than Aziraphale's bookshop. So, of course, he always had to return eventually.

Crowley spread his wings and flew home.

"Isn't this adorable?" The Almighty held up the _petit four_ that She had bought. It was a whole new craze throughout Europe, apparently, though it had started in France.

Lucifer gave it a disparaging glance. "It's a tiny cake."

"And it's beautiful. Look at what they've done with it."

The demon sighed and accepted the cake. There would be no avoiding at least some recognition of it, better to get it over with before the play started.

The miniature cake was a perfect cylinder, covered in dark chocolate swirled with white, with gold leaf attached artfully to the top.

"Could be more exciting," was his final opinion.

The Almighty frowned in his direction. "What about this one?"

The new one was pink and diamond shaped, with a tiny rose at the corners and a treble clef in gold.

"See, that has much more artistry."

"Fine." They switched _petits fours_ and the Almighty ate Hers, sighing in pleasure.

Lucifer's was a lovely moist strawberry cake, made with almond flour, and a swiss meringue cream flavored with champagne. The tiny roses were made of a stiff buttercream that added a small burst of cinnamon, and the whole thing was covered in a thin layer of pink white chocolate.

As far as cakes went, this one was a masterpiece, and he hated that he could recognize that.

She just kept giving him this kind of exquisite art.

"It's acceptable," he allowed. "Why not a new play?"

The Almighty beamed. "I think you'll like this one. Shakespeare knew both Crowley and Aziraphale, you know."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Did he? So, what, this play is about them?"

"In a way. You _do_ seem to enjoy watching them, I thought you'd enjoy the outing."

"Are they even here?"

She pointed them out.

The duo was simply enjoying themselves tonight. No work, no Arrangement. Just an angel and a demon watching Romeo and Juliet, neither realizing who the playwright had based it on, but both drawn to the heartfelt story of love across boundaries.

"Ah." Lucifer smiled. "Has Aziraphale tried a _petit four_ yet? Seems like his kind of thing."

"Not yet," She responded, watching him. "Maybe Crowley should get him one."

"Someone should definitely mention it to him," he agreed. "He can miracle some to Alpha Centauri."

The Almighty shook her head. "I'm glad he has a place to feel safe."

"I'll win. Just you wait. He'll take his angel and run for safety; Crowley would never let anything happen to Aziraphale."

"Hmm." God looked unconvinced. "And what will you do with them if you win?"

Lucifer shrugged. "Maybe add a flock of ducks to Haven."

The Almighty smiled, and it was the kind of smile you tried to hide so that the person you were with didn't see it, but you were so pleased that it came out anyway, around the edges and around your eyes.

Lucifer ignored Her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! Another week, another chapter. :) This one is a little short, but we get to visit Alpha Centauri!  
> And, you know, deal with the problems from last chapter. That's a little important.


	7. Arguments

_"God gave us free will, and we may choose to exercise it in ways that end up hurting other people." - Francis Collins_

"I do love Charles Dickens."

Aziraphale gave a strained smile to the person pawing his book. "Me too. I do believe that in a hundred years people will still be reading his books. Some of them."

The man smiled and looked back down at the first edition. "I'm trying to collect all of his works. This is the latest."

"Ah, well." Aziraphale frowned. He'd found that as much as he enjoyed _having_ a bookshop, he didn't particularly enjoy _running_ the bookshop. He didn't like the customers messing up his organization system, and he didn't enjoy them constantly bothering him while he was trying to read, and he most certainly didn't enjoy them trying to buy any books.

He had a few he would part with, for someone who loved it and would appreciate it and not just try to collect it as part of a set that would sit forever unread on said person's bookshelf. But a first edition Charles Dickens was not one of those.

"Do you -"

"'Cuse me, sir." A small child ran into the store, cutting off whatever the customer was about to say. "I've a message for you." He held up a small piece of folded paper and offered it to Aziraphale.

_Meet me at the usual place - C_

Aziraphale smiled at the boy. "Thank you very much." He reached behind the boy's ear to 'produce' a coin. He'd recently got into magic acts, and though he wasn't horribly good yet, Aziraphale enjoyed actually working on a skill. It was novel. And it was _so_ satisfying when he did it right. "For your trouble."

"Thank ye, sir." The kid took the coin and hurried out, clearly not incredibly impressed.

Ah, well.

Aziraphale turned to his customer. "I'm afraid the store is closed, you'll need to come back later."

The man gawked at him. "What?"

"The store is closed. Terribly sorry, dear boy, maybe next time." He ushered the confused man out of the shop and took the Dickens back.

Crowley truly had the most impressive timing.

Aziraphale took the time to reshelve the book somewhere harder to reach, then put on his nice hat and headed out.

The usual place was St. James Park, which was a place for covert meetings. They'd begun to use it early that century when they needed to discuss business instead of random plays, because they watched the plays without discussing business now, and there had to be some separation. Besides, everyone who had covert business did it in the park. It made Aziraphale feel like some kind of suave spy.

When Aziraphale arrived, Crowley was already standing at the pond, tossing bread at the ducks. He wasn't _feeding_ the ducks so much as trying to hit them with crusts of bread, but the ducks didn't truly seem to mind because the bread wasn't particularly hard and they still got to eat it in the end.

Aziraphale came to stand next to him. "Hello Crowley. Everything alright?"

"I've just been thinking a lot recently. You know, what if this all goes pear shaped?"

"I like pears," Aziraphale responded automatically, before cottoning on to what Crowley _actually_ meant.

"I mean if it all goes _wrong_ ," Crowley specified. "If people find out about us."

Aziraphale frowned and tossed some bread of his own at the ducks. It wasn't an unfair thought. They _were_ together a lot, especially for two beings who should be on "smite at first sight" type of relations. "We could meet less."

"No," Crowley shook his head. "That's not what I want. I just -"

"We could put more protections on the bookshop and go out less?"

" _Angel_. Look, I - I may have..." Crowley lowered his voice so Aziraphale had to listen closely to hear him. "I have a safe house. Off planet, in case anything happens."

Aziraphale froze. " _What?_ " It was a whisper.

Crowley handed him a small piece of paper. "That's the directions. If anything happens, I want you to go there."

The angel looked at it. Clearly the stress had been weighing Crowley down more than he'd thought, if Crowley, let's-wing-it-and-do-what-we-want-Crowley was giving him an address to a safe house.

"Do you think someone knows?"

Crowley shook his head and threw bread at the ducks, which caused an uproar from them. "I'll let you know if... if you need to leave, but I wanted some kind of insurance if they come after me. Don't say it aloud." His demon held out another paper. "The walls have ears." He paused, realizing there weren't any walls around. "Well, trees have ears. Ducks have ears... do ducks have ears? They must, that's how they hear other ducks."

Aziraphale meanwhile, had opened the note.

He gasped. "That could kill you!"

"Shhh!"

"It's not just a discorporation, Crowley," Aziraphale hissed. "You're talking about disappearing forever." His entire body hurt at the thought. How could Crowley even consider it? He didn't want his demon within a mile of the stuff. If even a drop of it fell on him, it would have lasting and painful effects. "I'm not bringing you a - a suicide pill!"

"It's not for me," Crowley hissed.

"Besides, if you're worried about Heaven and Hell knowing we've been fraternizing, this -"

" _Fraternizing?_ "

"Well whatever you want to call it!"

"I have better people to "fraternize" with."

Aziraphale gasped. "Well so do I! Obviously!"

"Oh! Then why don't you go fraternize with _them_?" Crowley turned to glare at him.

"I will!" Aziraphale crossed his arms and turned to stalk away, burning the slip of paper so no one would see it.

"Good! So will I!"

"Good!"

Crowley glared after Aziraphale, then turned and stalked out in the other direction. It wasn't until he got home that he paused and felt maybe a little embarrassed. Why had he had to argue? He could have convinced Aziraphale about the holy water, he was sure of it. He'd just been so hurt when Aziraphale had called it _fraternizing_ , as if they hadn't been friends for millenia and especially recently.

Sleeping over at each other's places (ok, Crowley more than Aziraphale, but always after Aziraphale offered) was not simply _fraternizing_. Going to plays and sharing dinners was not _fraternizing_. Buying each other gifts simply because they reminded one of the other was not _fraternizing_.

Why was it so hard for Aziraphale to admit they were friends?

Crowley ran his hands through his hair, tossing the hat over his shoulder. He needed a place to think. Or rather, a place to not think.

He spread his wings and flew for Haven. He'd just nap until he felt better, and he'd know what to do then.

"Did you see that? Did you _see_ that?" Lucifer gestured angrily at the empty place where two celestial beings had stood recently. "What happened?"

"Hmm." The Almighty watched the area, apparently unconcerned. It was angering that She could just look at the horrible mess that had happened to The Couple without getting angry.

"I can't _believe_ it," he snapped. "Over what? Over _what_?"

"I do believe it was in some way over their relationship."

Lucifer turned on Her. "How are you so calm? They might never make up and then this whole game is _pointless_! We're supposed to follow them around on their _own?_ "

"I gave them free will, child," the Almighty said gently. "Free beings fight over small things. They argue. They make mistakes. This is the way of the world. We cannot always mend relationships... no matter how much we might want to."

Lucifer looked uncomfortably away from the old pain in Her eyes. "Well I don't like it. There's no sense in a bet on the _pair_ if they're no longer a pair."

She shrugged. "They may yet reunite. Do not give up hope so easily, my child. They are well and truly intertwined between each other."

Lucifer crossed his arms. "Well... I suppose. We can give them some time... What if they don't come back together?"

"Then the bet stands as it was placed. Either both pass or both fail, whether together or apart."

Lucifer scowled some more.

"Come, my child. Let us find something else to do. There is a lovely play out right now."

"This isn't going to be another tragedy, is it?" Lucifer snapped. "I didn't like Romeo and Juliet."

"I promise. This one has a happy ending, and a couple very truly in love. Just your type." She beamed at him.

Lucifer sighed and sent another look at where no celestial beings stood. "Oh, very well. Seeing as we're both here regardless." He made a show of annoyance, but Lucifer had discovered a soft spot for love. It could be terrible and deadly and selfish, and it could be the softest, tenderest self sacrificing force of good. Love took human's decisions from the moderate scale to the severe without taking the chance of falling either way from them.

And some love stories were quite funny as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeee!! Another chapter. :) This is probably the only time I stray so far off from what the proper show dialogue is, but like... it was necessary.  
> Until the end, anyway.
> 
> Remember to leave a comment! I love hearing any opinions on anything, or just to say hi. :)


	8. Conversations

_"Catholic theology believes that God gave man free will, and you can't give somebody free will and then send in a play from the sidelines." - Roger Ebert_

"If Crowley doesn't wake up soon, I will wake him."

The Almighty laughed. "Are you that bored, my child?"

Lucifer sent Her a look as they walked through the gallery.

"They've definitely changed the way they draw you. Much more attractive in this one," She said, as if that was the most important thing.

"Yes, yes. I look quite stunning and tempting. Never mind that Crowley was the one doing the tempting in the garden. You're avoiding the point."

"You know you cannot contact him if you want Haven to be a refuge. We have to wait."

Lucifer groaned.

"I like this one too."

"I don't care about artwork! You know Aziraphale is sending memos to Hell in Crowley's place. If he just _woke up_ they could figure it out but instead he's been asleep for tweny years and _that_ is happening!" Lucifer gestured at where Aziraphale walked with a certain Oscar Wilde.

Walking too closely.

"I'm going to curse the man if he gets any closer," Lucifer muttered.

"You will not," the Almighty said sternly. "We are not supposed to interfere in their growth."

"I'm not interfering with Aziraphale, my focus will be entirely Oscar Wilde-based."

She laughed, and it was the sound of sparkling bells. "That's too close and we both know it. Just enjoy the museum."

"I refuse."

"Oh, very well. Then escort me as _I_ enjoy the museum."

Lucifer sipped on his wine, avoiding eye contact with his dinner partner.

A good ten minutes passed before She spoke.

"I told you not to touch Oscar Wilde."

"And I didn't! I didn't place a single curse on the man. I didn't even place a curse on his lover."

The Almighty looked unimpressed.

Lucifer took another drink of his wine. "You can't invalidate the game over this. It was three times removed from Aziraphale and several people made decisions here. Lots of free will involved. Aziraphale will probably help him get out in a few years anyway. No harm done."

She frowned. "No. I will not invalidate the game."

"Good."

He caught her gaze and they both considered the weird fact that neither of them would back down from this game. What would it take to invalidate it?

"You shouldn't waste a meal," Lucifer said eventually. "I know you like the fish here."

The Almighty rolled Her eyes and took a bite of fish.

Lucifer did the same, enjoying the way the Chardonnay complemented the fried bass. There were good things on Earth, though he wouldn't admit it out loud. Not that he was gluttonous like Aziraphale, but, well... it wasn't all bad. Although gluttonous was maybe too small a term at this point. Plain _hedonistic_ in every sense. There was only one person Aziraphale should have been experimenting like _that_ on, in Lucifer's opinion, and that was Crowley.

Who was still asleep.

"Maybe I'll invite War back to England," Lucifer commented. "She's been abroad too long."

"Don't you dare," She said. "I know you're hoping to draw out Crowley, but he won't hear anything about it if he's asleep."

Lucifer sighed. "There has to be something. He can't just keep sleeping nonstop. What if he misses the game?"

"He's not going to sleep for 150 years."

"Why not? He's almost a third of the way there."

The Almighty looked distinctly unimpressed.

"Can't _you_ wake him? You can do it without him knowing Haven is breached."

"I will not. That would be a very direct interference and we _just_ discussed that."

"I promise not to invalidate the game," Lucifer assured Her.

"Sleeping so long _is_ a choice, child. He is choosing not to grow right now. We do nothing. We have to wait."

Lucifer sighed and finished off his plate. "Shall we have dessert? They make Nesselrode pudding here and I hear it's all the rage."

"Oh? Well then we have to try it."

A server came by within a minute with their desserts and some coffee to accompany it. Lucifer had grown fond of coffee as a dessert pairing. The bitter and smooth drink was the perfect complement to the sweetness of dessert.

He didn't bring _this_ up either.

"And there's a new opera out," the Almighty said. "If you want to see it. A classic romance."

"Hmm." Lucifer considered this as he tried the pudding and decided the hype was worth it. "I suppose we could go see one, since I'm already here."

"Lovely."

"I heard Pestilence is retiring." The Almighty smiled at Lucifer as they walked through the park. It was spring and the flowers were in full bloom and birdsong filled the air.

Lucifer shrugged. "Yeah. Went for one last hurrah, as it were. They're calling it the Spanish Flu and it's going to be devastating, but they'll be retiring after that. Passing the crown on to Pollution. Isn't that a _lovely_ human invention?"

The Almighty sighed. "It grieves me there is another horseman to fill Pestilence's place. Pestilence attacks indiscriminately, and humans had begun to care for each other and learn to keep them at bay. It filled my heart with joy. But this new horseman is just as insidious."

"Nah, not really. They'll kill mostly the poor."

The Almighty sent him a Look.

"That's just the way it is with humans. They care about themselves first, their pets second and everybody else last. Convince those in charge that they'll be able to escape the effects of Pollution and they'll do it without a second thought."

She shook her head. "There are always people trying to make things better for everyone."

Lucifer shrugged. "Sure, but it doesn't matter, does it? One person trying to clean a river with nets is never going to undo the work of one millionaire dumping toxins in the water."

She sighed heavily. "If humanity can conquer Pestilence, perhaps they can conquer these other three."

"Don't hope too hard. Humans are their own worst enemy. Like this Great War."

The Almighty scowled, and it seemed ill fitting on her face. "I seem to remember one of your horsemen having something to do with that."

Not Pestilence, no. "War was just messing with a small internal Austria matter. How was she supposed to know it would plunge the world into war?"

"It is rather her purview," the Almighty said frigidly. "So much senseless death. And for what?"

"So some people in power can feel better," Lucifer spat. "The worst kind of souls are those used to others bowing at their feet. Humanity started equal. How did they get to this?"

The Almighty looked across the park, and millennia of sadness seemed to fall on her shoulders. "With so many small actions based in free will. The same way your Hell became what it is today."

"You haven't heard the best part though," Lucifer said after a few moments of silence. The sadness was uncharacteristic. It was rare that the Almighty didn't find pleasure in Her creation, and it irritated him to walk beside Her when She was thus. "Aziraphale sent a memo that Crowley was responsible for the alliances that plunged the world into war. I've given him a commendation for it that he needs to come pick up at a ceremony."

The Almighty raised an eyebrow. " _Crowley_ needs to come pick up the commendation?"

"Mmhmm." Lucifer smiled. "The angel will have to wake him. Either that or pull off some crazy heist."

She smiled, just a little. "I vote for the heist. He hasn't even been to _see_ Crowley this entire time. He's too scared of leading anyone to his Haven."

Lucifer chuckled. "I will be watching the whole affair with _great_ interest, let's put it that way."

The Almighty nodded, and they walked in a silence that was easy and comfortable.

They didn't comment on it.

Lucifer dialed the only number he would ever bother calling. Now that they had these _telephones_ he wasn't going to go in for primitive methods of long distance communication.

Besides, he knew She would answer.

"My child?" The voice was as clear and gentle and open as ever.

Lucifer didn't waste time on pleasantries and small talk. "He's back. We should meet."

There was a second of silence, then "the usual place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters, tbh. I mean, I like all of them, but this one is fun.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left a comment! :) :))


	9. Reunion

_"But there are moments when one has to choose between living one's own life, fully, entirely, completely—or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands." - Oscar Wilde_

"How do you do so little and still find agents?"

Crowley smirked at his 'coworker' in the Secret Intelligence Service. Nathaniel was glaring at him over a pile of papers, most of which were self reported encounters with "spies" from paranoid housewives with nothing else to do.

"It's called working smart instead of working hard," Crowley drawled, resting his feet on his own desk, which was perfectly clean. He idly filled out his crossword.

Nathaniel scowled at him. "You don't work at all. How did you get on Brumhilda's case this last week?"

"People know how great I am."

"Just ignore him," came the unsolicited advice from another worker, who was drudging through his own pile of unfounded accusations. "You're feeding the narcissist."

"What, am I wrong?" Crowley asked. "Or did you actually find an evil milkman?"

"I don't know why they even hired you."

Crowley shrugged gracefully. His spiffy suit made all of his movements smoother and just more glamorous.

He'd woken at a good time in the fashion cycle. He even had a nice black hat.

"Well there's no way they're firing him," Nathaniel muttered. "Not with his record."

"If you need some mentoring, you can come watch me catch a Nazi spy tonight," Crowley offered condescendingly. He really did have someone he was going to tail, some "Rose Montgomery".

The mood in the room decreased.

Technically, Crowley wasn't sure whether annoying the entirety of Britain's intelligence operation was Hell worthy, but it was keeping him from having to talk to Aziraphale, and he appreciated that in a job. Besides, it wasn't like he was doing a good job as a demon anywhere except on his falsified memos. Nor did anyone ever check in on him.

So he might as well live his life.

"Come on," Crowley teased. "You might even learn something."

Nathaniel scowled. "You know what, I'm going to take you up on that. Bet you didn't expect that, did you?"

Crowley chuckled. "Great. Loads of fun."

Crowley put a hand on Nathaniel's arm. "What the devil are you doing?"

Nathaniel looked at him like an idiot. "Aren't we following her?"

"Don't be so obvious," he hissed. "A woman walking on her own is one of the most alert people in the world. One that's an agent will only be more aware of her surroundings. We follow at a _large_ distance."

Nathaniel watched her turn the corner with a desperate look. "We're going to lose her."

"No. We won't." Crowley fussed with his jacket for several moments while Nathaniel stewed in impatience, then led them forward with a casual saunter. He caught the hint of her perfume in the air and she was just turning the next corner when they passed the first.

"She could turn anywhere," Nathaniel hissed angrily.

Crowley stopped them. "Nat, take a deep breath. Do you smell gardenias?"

"Don't call me Nat."

Crowley waited until he sighed and did as he was told.

Nat shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe?"

" _That_ is the scent of a woman's perfume. Our woman's perfume. Capiche? We won't lose her." Crowley started following the scent again, ignoring the wide eyed stare he was getting from the man.

The path meandered, but Crowley didn't lose it. He had a pretty good sense of smell, and perfume was strong and fake smelling. It had a wrong note to it that he could easily pick up by dragging the air over his tongue.

Discreetly, of course.

As they walked, Crowley felt a sense of dread as they headed into Soho, and it only got worse as he found the trail leading towards one very specific bookshop.

"Shit."

"Did you lose her?" Nathaniel's voice was somewhere between awe and disbelief.

"Of course not," Crowley snapped. "She's in there. You'll have to go in and see what's going on."

" _What?_ "

Crowley sighed. "I know the owner; can't go in. Good thing I brought you along, actually... just go in and make it clear you don't want to buy anything and try to find out what she wants with him."

Nathaniel paused, then gathered himself and walked into the bookshop while Crowley watched from across the street.

He wasn't an awful spy, Crowley would allow. He looked like someone just wasting time as he entered.

Damn it. What was that stupid angel getting into now? Every single time he left him alone, Aziraphale got into trouble. He should thank go- sat- he should thank _someone_ that the angel hadn't gotten discorported while he was sleeping.

Just maybe, sleeping that long had been a bad idea.

"Well?" The question came out hard and irritated when Nathaniel finally came back. He shouldn't be relying on second hand information to know what was happening with Aziraphale. He _should_ just walk in there and ask his angel what was going on.

He was a horrible coward.

Nathaniel bit his lip. "She told him she's part of British Intelligence, and he's to hand off some books to some Nazi leaders tonight at midnight at the old church. I don't think shes part of British -"

" _Obviously_." Crowley put his hands on his hips. Aziraphale had gone and gotten into trouble. Fuck, he was lucky it had taken the angel this long. "Right. Stay in your bomb shelter tonight. I'll take care of this."

"But... the bombs are falling on the east end tonight."

"Yeah. It'd take a last minute intervention to get them to change plans," Crowley said dryly as he sauntered off to get ready for that night. He wasn't going to leave his angel to fend for himself.

"You can't kill me!" Aziraphale said indignantly at the gun the Nazi was pointing at him. "There'll be _paperwork_."

"Ooh!"

The four of them, startled out of their own drama, turned to look at the newcomer, who was doing a hot-step down the aisle of the church.

Aziraphale almost smiled, the relief that flowed through him at seeing the demon again - after so _long -_ was that strong, but it was tempered by annoyance and exasperation.

"Sorry," Crowley said. "Consecrated ground. It's like being at the beach in bare feet."

"What are _you_ doing here?" Aziraphale asked, and he hoped the demon understood he meant _in a church_ and _showing up here instead of coming by like a normal person_ and _how long have you been awake and on planet, you idiot_.

It may have been a bit much to get across in one sentence.

"Stopping you getting into trouble," Crowley said, and tried to lean coolly against a pew. The usually suave mannerism failed when he needed to move from the pain in his feet.

"Mr. Anthony J. Crowley. Your fame precedes you," said the Nazi, training a gun on the demon.

Aziraphale frowned. That was new. "Anthony?"

"You don't like it?"

There was a very real worry in his voice, so Aziraphale quickly assured, "No, I didn't say that. I'll get used to it." It was weird, and reassuring, how quickly they fell back into their usual banter. It was like the last eighty years had never even happened, as if they'd last seen each other a month ago.

"You can still use Crowley," Crowley assured, just as quickly. As if he was worried that _this_ was the thing Aziraphale might be upset about. "Humans need a first name nowadays."

"The famous Mr. Crowley," Rose, or rather Greta, said, no doubt annoyed they were having a conversation without them. "What a pity you must both die."

Aziraphale continued to frown, ignoring the company. Somehow, no one else had ever mattered when he and Crowley were together. He'd missed that. "What does the 'J' stand for?"

Crowley shrugged as well as he could while bouncing on his feet. "Just a 'J', really."

"Maybe you could stand on a pew," Aziraphale offered, growing concerned. "You're burning your feet."

"Its just uncomfortable. They're platform shoes."

"Enough babbling," the Nazi said, clearly idiot enough not to realize what Crowley's discomfort meant, and annoyed that neither seemed to care about him. "Kill them both."

"Ah, right," Crowley gathered himself, for a few seconds anyway , and Aziraphale decided to sit back and watch the show. Crowley did enjoy his theatrics. "In about a minute, a German bomber will drop a bomb that will land _right here_. If you run away very, very fast you might survive. You won't enjoy dying. Definitely won't enjoy what comes after."

"You expect us to believe that?" The German sneered. "The bombs tonight will fall on the east end."

"Yes. It would take a last minute _demonic_ intervention to throw them off course, yes."

They finally started to understand what they were playing with, and Greta's eyes dropped to where Crowley was still dancing from foot to foot.

"You're wasting valuable running away time!" Crowley told them. "And if, in about 30 seconds, a bomb _does_ fall here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it." He glanced meaningfully at Aziraphale.

"A - a real miracle?" He stuttered over the words, touched beyond measure that even after the argument and 80 years of not speaking, Crowley knew he could count on him enough to include him in his plans.

Crowley met his gaze and then they all looked up as the bomb sirens began to sound.

"Oh, shi-"

Greta never got to finish her words, the bomb hitting the earth and shattering apart the church in the space of a few seconds.

Aziraphale and Crowley were unharmed, and Crowley no longer bounced from foot to foot.

He supposed the ground was no longer consecrated.

And now it was just the two of them, and the tension of their last argument and the eighty years apart.

"That was very kind of you," Aziraphale said, making the first overture.

"Shut up," Crowley scowled.

"Well, it was," he defended. "No paperwork, for - oh! My books! I completely forgot about them! They'll be -"

A bag was shoved into his arms and he stared at it.

"Little demonic miracle of my own." Crowley didn't look at him as he said it, just started swaggering over to his car, throwing a "coming, angel?" over his shoulder.

Aziraphale swallowed, moving his gaze from the bag of books that Crowley had saved to the demon himself. His chest felt tight with that affectionate fondness, but somehow so much worse at the small gesture of care, of being so seen and so known, of being worth the energy to perform a miracle in a church and - oh! He put a hand to his chest as he identified the feeling that had left him so lonely and bereft for the past few decades.

It was love.

He loved Crowley.

"Angel?" Crowley turned when he reached the car, and Aziraphale realized he'd been standing staring for a few minutes.

He took a breath and went over, quietly getting in the black car Crowley had found somewhere. He noticed Crowley's unreasonable speed only peripherally, struck by his epiphany.

It was like a veil had been lifted from his eyes, like he finally understood all the prose and poetry he'd read about love and realized that his romantic friends hadn't exaggerated a single line. He _would_ move mountains, bend rules, fight the whole gathered hosts of Heaven and Hell to keep Crowley safe and whole and happy. It was a depth of feeling he'd never thought to experience before, to even imagine could be possible.

"Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale looked up at the bookshop they'd already arrived at, then to Crowley, who looked small and scared and nervous.

"Would you like to come in, my dear?" he asked gently.

Crowley seemed to sag in relief. "Sure."

Aziraphale smiled at him, and led them inside, setting the bag of books reverently away.

Crowley stood uncomfortably in the front room as if he wasn't sure if he was still welcome, and that was wrong. Crowley was always welcome.

"I have something to give you," Aziraphale said.

Crowley's brows drew together. "What?"

"I got this after our last talk," Aziraphale said, heading towards the back room, swallowing down his misgivings. He still worried, he likely always would, but he couldn't deny Crowley this, hadn't been able to even before he knew why the thought of Crowley getting hurt or killed had felt like the end of the world.

The thermos was patterned in his personal tartan, a small thing he hadn't even considered before, but seemed incredibly appropriate. Crowley was more than family.

"Angel..." Crowley's voice was strangled. "Is that..."

"The holiest." He passed it over. "You have to promise me, _swear_ to me you will only ever use it as a last resort. If anything happens to you... call me, Crowley. Even if you're facing the Metatron himself, call me. If you need to use it to protect yourself, I'd rather be the one holding it. Promise me."

Crowley held the thermos reverently in his hands. "Angel... I.. I don't know what to say."

Aziraphale lifted a hand to his glasses, pausing for his nod before removing the barrier between them. "Tell me you'll call me. No matter what. I," Aziraphale paused, his hand having found its way to cup Crowley's cheek, before giving voice to something he'd felt for far too long and had only now been able to fully articulate. "I can't survive you, my dear."

"I promise." The demon looked shell shocked, and then he said, in a broken voice. "I can't survive you either, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale stroked his cheek, then turned to head to the back room, letting Crowley pull himself together while he prepared tea. When he heard the demon enter, sans thermos he asked, "how long have you been here?"

A glance showed him a newly nervous demon, examining the floor with great interest. "'Bout a month," he mumbled.

"Why didn't you come?"

Crowley scuffed his foot against the floor. "Dunno. I was.... nervous... I guess. Didn't want you to be angry."

Aziraphale handed him his tea and Crowley looked up at him through his lashes, searching for acceptance.

"I'm not going to reject you, Crowley," he said gently. "Even if I'm upset."

Crowley blushed. "Promise?"

"I promise," he said, and it felt like a vow.

"This calls for a celebration."

"Oh?" The Almighty looked up at him.

"We've only been waiting eighty years," Lucifer said. "Now I don't have to worry about the idiot sleeping through Armageddon."

"He would have made it back before then, I'm sure," She said cheerily. "But I'm happy to celebrate. Shall we see one of these moving pictures?"

"Nah. I want to visit a club. We haven't been to one of those yet."

"A club?" Her eyebrow rose to the edge of her bangs.

Lucifer shrugged as he started walking away from the bookshop. "Its a den of inequity, apparently. You'd think I'd have already been."

She laughed, head back in pure joy. "We tend to have higher standards for our meeting places."

"Just for tonight we might relax them a little. We have plenty to celebrate! Our pair is a pair again, and did you see the way they looked at each other?"

"Just like one of those romances you enjoy so much," She teased. "I'm glad you're enjoying the game."

"I don't think I've ever been so invested," Lucifer admitted. "Regardless of which of us wins." He pushed into the club he'd chosen and the two of them found a table to sit at and watch the chaos. No one batted an eye at the Almighty's presence, despite Her child like appearance, and some fancy drinks made their way to their table.

"It is warming to see love blooming," the Almighty said. "It's one of the most beautiful things in the world."

"Yeah, it is that... you know this makes me winning much more likely. They'll want to protect each other."

"Maybe. But I think they'll want to do what's right."

"Sure. But when the chips are down, people in love don't think clearly. Lots of evil done in the name of love."

She shook her head. "You'll see. I have faith."

Lucifer chuckled. "I should think it's no surprise that _I_ do not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's back!!! And we've gone way off script, lol.
> 
> Thank you for your comments!!! They mean a lot to me as I get closer and closer to finals. Like most people are out already, like please. Why am I still in class?


	10. Unconditional

_"Because free will, though it makes evil possible, is also the only thing that makes possible any love or goodness or joy worth having. A world of automata - of creatures that worked like machines - would hardly be worth creating." - CS Lewis_

" _Crowley!_ "

The demon flinched. "I'm sorry!"

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. "What happened?" He forced patience into his tone. The incident wasn't an isolated one, but Aziraphale had rather thought his books would be off limits.

"I'll fix it," Crowley assured, snapping his fingers. The pages dried as the spilled wine returned to its glass. "See? Nothing happened."

The pages were now slightly wrinkled.

Aziraphale took a breath. "What _happened_?"

"It was an accident! I just... I knocked my glass over."

"Onto my _books!_ Were you even reading them?" Aziraphale couldn't keep the exasperated, annoyed tone out of his voice.

Crowley shrugged, fidgeting and looking away. "I was looking for pictures... I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I'll get you another one, I promise."

"It's a _first edition_ ," he snapped, and Crowley flinched. "There isn't 'another one'."

His demon didn't respond, just stood there looking small and scared, like he was waiting to be kicked.

And it was hard to be angry with him when he looked like that.

It wasn't that Crowley had become less coordinated, or that he didn't care about Aziraphale's things. It was just that every once in a while over these past five years Crowley seemed to have an 'accident' that would be incredibly upsetting to Aziraphale. He would then try to fix it in a panic and get scared. Aziraphale didn't need a psychology degree - though he may as well have one after observing humanity for 6000 years - to read the underlying question in Crowley's actions; to hear him asking _Will this make you cast me out? Is your love as mutable as God's?_

Aziraphale had never answered it directly, because he wasn't so sure Crowley knew what he was doing.

"Well, don't drink wine next time you read them then," Aziraphale snapped instead, and even with the obviously annoyed and irritated tone, Crowley relaxed. "And dont touch my prophecy books at all."

"I won't," Crowley drawled, leaning against a bookshelf with forced nonchalance. "Why would I want to, anyway? None of those are true prophecies. Why even keep them around?"

Aziraphale tutted as he reshelved the slightly put out books. "There _are_ proper prophecies mixed in with the rest, you know. Ones that slipped through. But, there is, actually, a book of true prophecy that I've never been able to get my hands on."

" _You_? Even with all your miracles?"

Aziraphale nodded. "I'm afraid _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_ didn't sell a single copy and were all destroyed. I still hope, though."

"Wait," Crowley said, and just like that, they were back to their usual banter. "If no book survived, how do you know the prophecies are true? Maybe it's all a lot of hype."

"Ah. Well, usually heaven _interferes_ with people who can prophecy, you understand, but for some reason -"

"Agnes slipped under the radar."

Aziraphale smiled. "Just so."

Crowley whistled. "A whole book of _real_ prophecies you'll never be able to read. That must hurt."

"Yes, well." Aziraphale sighed. "I suppose we can't get _everything_ we want in life." He straightened his outfit. "Now I really feel you owe me lunch."

Crowley had the good grace to look sheepish. "Of course, angel. Wherever you want."

"Well," Aziraphale said, with the consideration such a topic was due. "There is a _lovely_ sushi restaurant nearby, that does some _amazing_ things with oysters." He beamed at Crowley who rolled his eyes with a soft fondness.

"Alright, angel. Lead the way."

Once they were out of the shop, the gentle buzz of miracles filled the air around them, though they both walked as if they weren't expending the extra energy.

They'd gotten used to it, as it were, seeing how they'd begun to see each other far too often of late. Despite their relatively safe spaces in the bookshop and Crowley's flat - both of which had layers of layers of miracles to divert attention of any celestial or demonic or even human interest - and despite the times when they - Crowley - stopped time so they could fly to Haven to spend a day or an evening or a night together with no worry whatsoever, they still spent too much time _out and about_ together for them to feel completely comfortable. Perhaps the paranoia was simply growing, but they had good reason to be paranoid, and Aziraphale's gift to his demon lurked constantly in his mind. So, any time they stepped out of a safe house both automatically generated a _look away_ bubble around the two of them. It wasn't that they were invisible to random passersby, but rather that the random passersby never took any _note_ of them, and if they did it was to, perhaps, remember that they'd seen someone in black sunglasses or an odd looking outfit, but never _them_ , never _together_ , never what they were _doing_.

So no one remembered when they came in together, though the sushi chef knew Aziraphale from all the times he came in alone. It was a slight inconvenience, but since Crowley didn't have a favorite order to memorize, it wasn't the worst thing.

Aziraphale and Crowley were seated at a table and warmly greeted, as Aziraphale always was. They would recognize him, as they'd seen him before, but they would never remember anything about Crowley. Maybe they'd remember vaguely he was with a companion, maybe a male one. But never more than that.

Aziraphale took Crowley's hand under the table and the demon blushed deeply. "Let's share one of those boats."

Lucifer sipped his wine as he watched the pair share sushi. He was aware, of course, of the anti-notice miracles that they piled on top of themselves, but they slid off of him. He could watch, and observe and _notice_. And he did all of those, intently.

Maybe it was because, well, this felt like the after the 'happily ever after' portion. Not that the test wasn't still coming, but hadn't they already gotten together? This was their after, when couples would grow tired and problems began to push them apart, and the only thing Aziraphale ever showed to Crowley was love.

Lucifer could understand Crowley's fascination with Aziraphale. He could far too _easily_ understand Crowley's love of the angel. When else, from who else, could such an endless spring of unconditional love spring forth? And not for someone perfect and deserving, but one cast out from God's grace.

He, too, would fall for an ever loving angel. He would follow someone like that to the ends of the Earth, through Heaven and Hell. Maybe that was why he watched them. Watched Crowley's mistakes and Aziraphale's fits of pique, but ultimately his forgiveness. Watched Crowley and his easy forgiveness of any of Aziraphale's moods or urging him out for time alone. They always came back for each other. They would always be there for each other.

Lucifer had never had anyone like that.

"Another bottle of wine, sir?"

He looked up at the server, who was young faced and... concerned.

Lucifer checked the table to find he'd gone through multiple bottles already. No wonder the boy was concerned.

"Sure. Another of the same."

The server hesitated. "Is everything alright?"

Lucifer scoffed, then looked back at the server.

Humans.

They were... indefinable. Here was a busy child, stressed with a hard job and low pay, school, family, relationships. And yet he had taken the time to be concerned for a random patron. There was no reason for it. No demon would have cared. No angel would have either, unless perhaps, they were one of the two who didn't quite fit in. In so many ways humans were crueler and harsher and more evil than the worst of the demons.

And in so many small ways, they were so much better than the best Heaven could offer.

"Parents," Lucifer said, thoughtfully. "That's supposed to be unconditional, isn't it?"

The server blinked, then nodded. "Usually. I mean, I know it isn't like that for a lot of people, but it's supposed to be that way. Is... are you having trouble with your parents?"

Lucifer shook his head. "Thank you. For caring. Another bottle would be great."

The server hesitated, and Lucifer liked him more for that. He'd leave a blessing on the kid.

He deserved it.

When the server returned with the wine he paused again.

"Sir? I just wanted to say, it - it gets better. I know it's hard sometimes, parents especially. And you always love them, you know? But... sometimes to take care of yourself you have to really leave them."

Lucifer stared out at the couple he was watching. "Yeah. Thanks, kid."

The server nodded, and left the wine. Other tables called.

Crowley cuddled up next to Aziraphale on the already old couch in the back room of the bookshop. They were enjoying another bottle of wine together, as if they needed the excuse to spend the time together. He rested his head against Aziraphale's chest, and the angel had an arm wrapped around his waist, and it was... perfect.

He couldn't recall ever being as happy as he was now. Not performing his most dastardly bits of temptation, not on his nicest sleeps, not even back in Heaven before he fell. Nothing could beat the time he spent curled up against his angel's warmth, basking in his pure love.

Maybe this was what love felt like. Crowley wasn't made for the lightning bolt of attraction, sure. He didn't lose his breath around Aziraphale, and he didn't want to drag him to the bedroom. In short, it was little like the way some of his human friends through the ages would have described love.

But he loved Aziraphale. This endless warmth he felt around him, the fondness whenever he thought of him, the complete sense of ease and comfort that enveloped the two of them whenever they were together, the way he would follow him wherever he led. That was love. Maybe, even, a truer love. One based on a forever together, of knowing the twists of the other person in such excruciating detail and never getting bored, of knowing the worst of each other and never thinking them less, of knowing the best and never idolizing.

"Thinking deep thoughts, my dear?"

Crowley smiled up at Aziraphale. "Me? Deep thoughts? Never."

Aziraphale laughed softly and moved his hand to stroke Crowley's hair, and Crowley let his eyes fall closed. If he'd been a cat, he would have started purring.

"Angel?" Crowley's voice came out heavy with sleep, and he felt it blurring the edges of his mind. "Do you think this is what he meant? About Heaven on Earth?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know," Aziraphale said thoughtfully. "I never met the man."

"Mm," Crowley shifted against him and opened his eyes to look up into Aziraphale's. "Think this is better than Heaven, though."

His angel smiled. "I don't think Heaven has ever been quite this soft and comfortable." Which was his angel's way of agreeing with him without outright saying he'd rather be here with him than in Heaven.

Aziraphale didn't need to say it. Crowley knew.

He nuzzled Aziraphale. "I'm sorry about the books," he said, registering dimly that he wasn't even worried in the slightest that his angel would take offense.

"I know. Don't do it again."

"Promissse." Crowley wanted to wince at the hiss, but he was too relaxed for that. It happened. Aziraphale wasn't going to reject him for being a demon.

"Good," Aziraphale said softly.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale looked at him and waited patiently as he struggled to finally form the words.

"I love you," Crowley said.

Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley was sure he started to glow. The hand in his hair cupped his cheek and pulled him into a soft, gentle, wine flavored kiss.

"I love you too, darling," Aziraphale whispered.

Maybe this was too mortal a thing to be Jesus' Heaven on Earth, Crowley thought, but he couldn't imagine anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually have notes because life is chaos. Have a good read!!!!


	11. Choices

_"The reasons I don’t do something define me as a person even more so, perhaps, than the reasons I do something.” ― Dan Pearce  
_

"All I'm saying is," Crowley said, half drunk - or maybe a little more - and leaning against his throne in his office room. "Is that, you know, sure, one of us could go to America and do both jobs, like we do."

"Right, and it'd be you this time," Aziraphale reminded.

"Right, yeah. Not the point. Well... maybe the point. But the point is... the point _is_ it's far from home."

"Well yes. It's in America."

" _Aaaaall_ the way over there. Where no one is looking for us. We could, you know... hang out. Go out. Together. To the, ngk, to the inn. Like a date."

Aziraphale considered this. "We wouldn't be any further from Heaven."

"Ueegh, yeah, but, still."

"You just don't want to go alone." Aziraphale gestured with his wine glass from his position on the much softer, lighter throne Crowley kept for the angel. He'd decided they needed one because there were two places on Earth they could be together comfortably and without too much worry, and as much as he loved the bookshop, they gathered at his flat for variety. Crowley had also, therefore, stocked up on good sweets and good wines, and turned on his best records when his angel was over.

"Well, no, I don't," Crowley agreed. "You wouldn't either. It's _America_. I can't even take credit for the shitstorm that happens over there."

"Hmm." The wine glass he sipped out of had also been bought specifically for these get togethers. It had golden filigree on it. Crowley had just thought 'Fuck, that reminds me Aziraphale' and that had been that. It lived in his home now.

"It's gonna be a crowded bar," Crowley tempted. "We can lower the miracle use a little."

Aziraphale looked to be considering this, and Crowley gave him a second or two. Enticing Aziraphale had its own rhythm, and that included giving him time to absorb the points, but not so much he would start to come up with counterpoints.

"And it's a gay bar. You haven't been to one in a long time. They've changed, you know." He paused again, then said in what was supposed to be a coaxing tone, but came out more pleading, "and we haven't gone out in two months."

The angel sighed, and Crowley knew he had won. "Very well. I suppose it could be fun to go together."

Crowley beamed.

Aziraphale looked around the bar. It was crowded and dimly lit and loud. Which was actually perfect. It would be very hard for anyone to see or hear what he and Crowley did even if they were looking for them.

They'd decided to come separately, just to be safe. Not that _any_ of this was safe. Aziraphale worried constantly, but they'd been getting away with it so far. And he didn't _want_ to live without Crowley just to be safer.

The added bonus of being here just a day was that they didn't have to call anyone to take care of the plants. Crowley had gotten into houseplants since he'd come back, and so naturally a few had made their way into his bookshop. The first one Crowley had brought over with a self satisfied smirk was an "angel wings" begonia.

He'd laughed when he'd come over the week after to find Aziraphale had added a "devil's club" to that particular corner.

Aziraphale walked up to the bar and asked, "Do you have a wine list?"

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "A... wine list?"

"Really, angel?" came a familiar drawl as Aziraphale's favorite demon slouched on the counter next to him. "Have you _ever_ been to a modern bar?"

Aziraphale beamed at him. "Not ones like this, no. Much more your scene, isn't it?"

Crowley shrugged. "I've got this. Two French martinis. You'll like it, trust me."

"Then I am in your hands." Aziraphale looked him over. "You've changed up your outfit." It seemed a little soon for that. Crowley tended to change every decade, true, but his usual look was still more or less in style.

"We're in America! I wanted to try it out."

"Well you look stunning," Aziraphale said earnestly, then reached out to Crowley's glasses. "Can I?"

Crowley blushed and nodded, and Aziraphale removed them, folded them up neatly, and set them in Crowley's pocket.

"Lovely. Even more stunning."

Crowley blushed deeper and managed a few stumbled syllables, pupils blown so wide he almost didn't have an iris, a state which Aziraphale thought was adorable every time he did it.

He turned back to the bartender to accept the drinks with a "thank you, dear boy," and handed one to Crowley. Aziraphale sipped his drink and hummed happily. "Perfect, thank you, darling. Shall we find a table?"

"Ye- of course! Then maybe we can dance."

Aziraphale chuckled. "Crowley, you know I don't dance. And _you_ shouldn't. At least, not in public."

Crowley rolled his eyes as they headed towards a miraculously open table. "We could... sway. To one of the slower songs."

"Maybe," Aziraphale allowed as they sat down. "I'll consider it."

"There's enough humans in here that no one will notice, even if they're watching."

"I know. That's why we're here at all."

Crowley sighed and sipped his martini.

"Our next cocktails should have those little umbrellas in them," Aziraphale said with a smile. "Maybe even cherries, sugar on the rim."

Crowley chuckled. "Of course. Anything you want, angel."

"Hey! Another two of... whatever we had last time," Crowley called at the bartender, who came over with a smile.

Not the usual way people greeted him.

"Cherries and little umbrellas?" the kid asked.

"That's the one!" Crowley leaned against the counter, pleasantly tipsy and riding high off a slow dance with his angel. Perfect. This date had been perfect. The way they fit into each other's arms, fingers laced together. Human bodies were _made_ to fit together. To hold, to comfort, to love.

Maybe that was why he was a shit demon. Function followed form, and he'd been human shaped and human named for millennia.

"I think you two are really cute together," the bartender said, fixing up the drinks. "You look like you've been together forever."

Crowley shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah."

The kid beamed. "It's nice to see. You don't see a lot of older gay couples."

"Tough world," Crowley agreed. The gay scene in recent years was a little more chaotic than it had been. "But you know, you find someone like that angel over there -" Crowley pointed at Aziraphale. "- you want to make it last. I would suffer an eternity of Hell's torture to be with him. I probably will. And it'll be worth it."

The kid sighed wistfully as he passed the drinks to him. "I wish I could find someone I loved like that."

Crowley gave him a sympathetic look. "You're still young, kid. You'll get there. Cheers." He raised the drinks before heading back to his angel, aware of the kid staring after him. He sent a miracle the kid's way.

For the drinks, obviously. Aziraphale _did_ like them a lot.

Crowley slid into the seat next to Aziraphale, who was - annoyingly - talking to someone else.

"Yes, Crowley, this is Marsha," the angel introduced him with a big smile.

"Yeah," Crowley said with a scoff. "Here's your drink, angel."

"Oh, I don't want to interrupt your date -"

"Oh nonsense," Aziraphale assured the woman. "You are most welcome."

Crowley made a skeptical sound and got an elbow to his gut in response.

He glared at his angel.

This was supposed to be _their_ time together.

She chuckled lightly. "I _am_ sorry. You two just look so perfect together."

Crowley groaned as Aziraphale beamed. "Damn it, angel. Stop radiating goodness and love. I had this conversation with the bartender, too."

Aziraphale gave him a look. "I'm not the only one radiating love, darling."

"It's definitely both of you," Marsha agreed. "And that we tend to hear a lot more sad stories than good ones."

"Well let me settle your mind, this is _definitely_ going to end badly," Crowley drawled. "Someone's gonna cotton on sometime."

His angel sighed. "I appreciate the optimism, dear."

"It's called being realistic. We're on borrowed time."

"I'm sorry," the woman said, voice more sober.

Crowley shrugged. "It's fine. Hey, we're here today, aren't we? Having a good time." He raised his glass and sipped it. "That's what matters."

"Exactly," Aziraphale agreed. "Here, together." He took his hand over the table and gave it a squeeze. "And I'm glad to know we give others hope."

Crowley scoffed. "You would."

She smiled sadly and got up. "I'll let you two get back to your date. Thank you for letting me interrupt."

"No trouble at all," Aziraphale said graciously.

Crowley fell across his lap. "You're going to cause a riot with that aura of yours."

"I'm not riling anyone up." Aziraphale pet his hair gently and Crowley let his eyes slowly close.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he murmured, happy to just wait there for whatever was going to happen to happen.

The instructions had been rather vague, but that was alright.

"You know, Crowley, these are really _our_ people, aren't they?"

"You've always been an epicenter for the gays," Crowley said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Yes, of course that."

"And I suppose we're kind of gay, aren't we? I mean, I don't really do the gender thing consistently, but that's kind of gay on its own. You _do_ do the guy thing, though, don't you?"

"I have gotten very comfortable in this form, if that's what you mean. It makes a lot of life easier. And you are usually doing the guy thing, too."

"Right. So kind of gay ourselves."

" _Yes_ ," Aziraphale said, slightly exasperated but still carding his fingers gently through Crowley's hair. "but what I meant was... well, I mean this... meeting in secret thing. The being afraid to be out together. The fear of being found out. The trysts in our apartments and rarely ever going outside. Regardless of how we look, these are, well... our people. They understand."

Crowley considered this. He thought of the young bartender's wistful look, even knowing they would probably suffer for it, Marsha telling them how rare it was to find stories that end happily, her immediate sympathy with their plight. "Yeeh, I guess," he allowed. "But you know how things are; in one or two centuries I'm sure they won't understand anymore. Pro'lly for the best, that."

"Yes, but that won't help anyone here _now_."

Crowley opened an eye to look at his angel. He didn't even try to tell him off, because Aziraphale could no more go against his nature than Crowley could stay away from him. All he said was, "don't run out of your reserves, angel. We don't know what's coming."

"I'm not blessing them _all_ ," Aziraphale assured, though there was some true regret in his voice. But of course there would be. Aziraphale was the only angel Crowley knew or knew _of_ who _actually_ knew how to love.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said, and he meant it.

The angel just shrugged and continued to pet his hair, and they fell into a companionable silence and waited.

It didn't take long for It to happen. For the noise and chaos and people and freedom of the dark to be broken with a bright torch and a loud voice letting everyone know that this was a raid.

"What are they doing?" Aziraphale asked as they moved to the back with a large majority of the occupants.

"It's a police raid," Crowley hissed. "They'll be locking up anyone without ID's or who doesn't match anything on there."

"Like me," Marsha said, who'd come back after finding the back doors had been locked. "And Stormé over there. Damn it!"

"This is _wrong_ ," Aziraphale said. "They can't just-"

"Humans, angel. You know how they are. Remember the Inquisition?"

"Do _you?_ You were drunk for two weeks after you saw that."

"They always treat us like garbage," Marsha said, and there was an old anger and bitterness on her face and in her voice. "It's the way of the world."

The front of the bar had become a little more chaotic. People protested. And they got arrested, and people became angrier. The energy of the place was rising and it felt like a pile of gunpowder waiting for a spark.

"We should fight back," Aziraphale said slowly, understanding crossing his face. He looked at Crowley. "That's why I'm here. And you were sent..."

Crowley groaned, and tilted his head back. "To stop it. To stop _you... Fuck_."

Aziraphale looked at the crowd, saw another girl get dragged out for dressing like a man. "Things can start getting better today. Those centuries you were talking about, it can start today."

Crowley didn't look at Aziraphale. And the angel, his blessed angel, he waited.

"Do it," Crowley said finally.

"Did you want -"

Crowley shook his head, having come to a decision. "I'll follow your lead, angel."

"Hell doesn't send rude notes, Crowley. You should at least -"

"I _can't_ ," he said, and it was pulled out of him, broken and strangled. "I can't, Aziraphale. These are ou- _your_ people. I can't hurt... you. Ugh. I know it's just a job and if another demon were here they'd do it anyway, but I _am_ here and I just..." He shook his head.

Crowley was a shitty demon. He was the worst demon in the history of the world. But while he could tempt people all day, or leave rude notes on barely improperly parked cars, or encourage people to own lawns, he couldn't do _this_. He couldn't bring himself to make sure these people were arrested, that all rebellion was squashed, that people around the world kept forcing people who had done nothing more than love into the same fear and desperation as him and his angel. Forcing children that had done nothing more than exist into lives on the street.

Aziraphale cupped his cheek and their eyes met before the angel kissed him softly, quickly, chastely.

"So what do we do?"

They looked over at Marsha, who must have heard, well, too much, and didn't seem bothered.

Aziraphale smoothed his outfit. "Simple, my dear girl." He picked up a shot glass and handed it to her. "We fight back."

"Hell doesn't have to know about this."

The Almighty shook her head. "We cannot interfere in their development."

Lucifer scowled at his... nemesis. "I will be making sure _no one_ interferes in his development."

She graced him with a look, one eyebrow raised. "There is a natural consequence to his actions." She turned back to watch the riot. "He has to suffer them. Sometimes when you do the right thing it hurts. This could actually be good for your side of the bet."

"Well, I can see how _you_ would feel that way," he snapped. "You've never looked out for _anyone_. But when I care about someone I don't want them being tortured."

She frowned, and it was a strange look on so innocent and light a face. "I _do_ look out for -"

"Yes, yes," Lucifer cut Her off. "I remember how you 'looked out' for Job's kids when you were testing him. Or your son when you sent him down here."

"They have free will, my child. I cannot interfere in their regular decisions."

"That's always the excuse," he snarled. "You never do _anything_. What use are you at all?"

Lucifer turned and stalked away from the scene.

"What - wait!"

"Don't worry," he said as he descended. "I won't 'interfere' with the punishment."

"My child!"

He ignored Her call as he entered Hell. What did he owe Her anyway? She'd tossed him aside like so much trash, no matter what She said now. That wasn't how people cared for each other. It wasn't how Aziraphale cared for Crowley.

It wasn't how a mother should treat her children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo!!! Just finished finals, just finished my entire DEGREE!!!!!! 
> 
> Feels good. :)))))
> 
> Y'all, I'm so close to finishing this fic, you don't even know. I'm two scenes away from having written all of it. We're so close.


	12. Pride

_"Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them." - Oscar Wilde_

"Did you watch it?" Lucifer's hands clenched around the railing, knuckles going white.

"I did." Her voice was solemn to his growling anger. She looked tired, pained, ancient despite the youth.

"How could you let it happen?" The words came out like a knives, like bullets.

"That is the world you created, my child."

Lucifer gripped the railing harder and felt the metal give to his hands.

It wasn't that Crowley had failed - the one time according to his memos. It would have been expected to happen once. But there had been no demonic influence at the Stonewall Inn at all. Which had prompted Dagon to check the records to find Crowley hadn't used any of Hell's power at the event, and _that_ had been grounds for questioning.

Crowley hadn't fought it. He'd admitted to sleeping through the event, tossed a few insults, and had been summarily consigned to the pit for a year.

The worst part was that it wasn't even considered a serious punishment. What was one year in over six thousand, after all? Any less of a punishment would have been considered less than a slap on the wrist.

Lucifer had watched from a distance. He'd listened to the screams. And he'd wondered if the demon would still think his act worth it when he came out, or if he would regret the kindness he'd been unable to quash.

But no one had looked deeper. No one had connected him to Aziraphale, and _that_ outcome Lucifer was sure the demon would never regret.

"You created it as much as I did," Lucifer spat.

She frowned. "I gave you the freedom -"

" _Freedom?_ You gave me neglect! You threw us out! You threw _me_ out!"

"You all would have suffered in Heaven," She said implacably, as if it had been the only logical conclusion. "My angels were already beginning to fight amongst themselves, between you and for you. I gave you a refuge, a home. I denied you not one of the angels you called friend. I built you safe spots on Earth, and I built the same for the angels still in Heaven, so that even in the place you could interact there was refuge. I _have_ loved you, my child. I have always done my best to care for you."

"But that's not how it felt!" Lucifer gestured angrily. "You keep telling me how it was all for my good and how you love me but I haven't felt it in millennia! You cut me off from my home and you barred me from the places you are most present on Earth! And I don't care if you did it out of love! Because maybe for once the thing that should matter is that _you hurt me_ , not that you didn't intend to. You can't even _accept_ that I was in pain; that's why you never use my real name. It's always "my child" because to call me Lucifer would be to admit that I was hurting and that it was your fault." Lucifer stopped to gasp in a breath he didn't need, but that would keep the tears from his eyes and fuel the anger that kept them dry. "For the past six thousand years you haven't - I haven't felt as if you were there for me. I figured you would just tell me I deserved any problems I had... I'm tired of having to be the better person and ignore my wounds so we can smile at each other over a good meal, so I can still talk to you without fighting every time. Why does it have to be me?"

He stared at her and turned away when she said nothing, speechless in the face of his wrath.

"Lucifer," Her voice this time was soft and filled with an ancient pain and an infinite weight. "I'm so sorry."

He glared at the ground. "Thank you for apologizing. But I don't know if I'm a good enough person to forgive you."

Aziraphale ran his hand over the devil's club in the corner with a heavy sigh.

It was almost a year since Crowley had disappeared and he kept wandering the shop aimlessly in the places he had left empty. The essence of Crowley still lingered, in the plants and the gauche paintings and the imprints on the couch and bed, but all of that only served to highlight his absence.

At least the last time Crowley had left it had been a self imposed isolation, and Aziraphale had known his demon was safely sleeping among the stars. This time, Aziraphale knew for a fact the exact opposite was happening and his heart constricted painfully in his chest at the thought of what his lover was going through.

He'd never felt more helpless.

Aziraphale sighed and turned away from the plant, steps carrying him to a room that was too quiet and too empty for him to enjoy his usual cup of cocoa. He might have to add some alcohol to -

The door opened and Aziraphale felt his breath catch at the familiar energy that swirled through the shop. Even before Crowley's voice, his soft "angel?" slithered through the bookshelves, Aziraphale had run to the door to pull him into the safety of the wards and closed the door behind him.

They stared at each other in silence.

Crowley looked the same as he had done before. Quieter, a little more haunted. But the same. No new scars on this corporation. His glasses covered his gaze and Aziraphale reached out to them.

"Can I?" he asked gently, and Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale revealed Crowley's eyes; beautiful as ever, but a little more scared. His hand was gentle as it cupped Crowley's cheek, watching for any sign the contact was unwelcome.

"Can you hold me, angel?" And there was nothing in Crowley's voice to suggest he'd spent the last year screaming in pain, but Aziraphale could still hear it.

"Of course, darling." He picked Crowley up bridal style, which pulled a surprised yelp from his demon. Crowley immediately cuddled as close to him as he could, arms wrapping around Aziraphale's neck as he carried the demon to their usual couch so he could just... hold him, pet his hair.

They didn't speak for a long time.

They didn't need to.

But eventually Crowley pulled back a little and asked, "are my plants ok?"

"Of course. I've been looking after everything for you."

Crowley sighed in contentment. "Thanks, angel. Maybe some wine is in order."

"Oh, I think some wine is necessary, honestly." Aziraphale hesitated; he was loathe to put Crowley down and go get any, so after a second of indecision he miracled a bottle and two glasses over from his cabinets. "Here we go."

Crowley took his glass and downed the whole thing in one go, and Aziraphale poured him another.

"I'm glad you're back," Aziraphale said gently.

"Me too," Crowley agreed.

"Let's not do that again."

"If we can avoid it, I'm all for that plan." He sighed. "I still couldn't have done it, though."

Aziraphale kissed him. "I know." And that was that.

"You know," Aziraphale said, a week later. Crowley hadn't gone back to his flat yet, except for a brief run three days earlier to check on his plants. To the angel, this was a perfectly acceptable state of affairs, but for the fact that it could raise suspicion, and then they would be in this mess all over again. Still, if Crowley needed the time to recover, Aziraphale would be the last person to say anything to him about it. "There's going to be a parade."

Crowley opened an eye from where he was basking in the sunlight that fell through the bookshop's windows to bathe one section of the floor. It was times like this that he looked the most serpentine, and also incredibly relaxed and comfortable. "You want to go to a parade? With like floats and stuff?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I doubt there will be floats."

"Huh." Crowley rolled onto his back. "So what's there to see, then?"

"Well," Aziraphale paused. He wasn't entirely sure how to bring it up without causing any undue stress. He'd been ready not to mention it at all, but then, he figured Crowley might actually get something out of going. "After the riot at the Stonewall Inn," he began, and it was a good way to reference it. Not _their_ riot. Not where _it_ happened.

Crowley tensed anyway.

"After, they _did_ keep working on it, you know. Rights, I mean. Gay rights. They're doing a parade to, well... commemorate the event. It'll have been a little over a year."

"Huh." Crowley lay silently in the sun for a moment, and Aziraphale considered just letting the matter drop.

He'd brought it up, after all. That was all he could do.

"You want to go, angel? You did well on that one."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Darling. If you don't want to go, we won't. I'd understand."

"No. No, we can go. Might be fun. We can have a good time being out and about."

"Right," Aziraphale agreed. He fidgeted with his jacket. "Right. I think it'll be good." He left off the 'for you', but it was implied.

"That's Brenda," Aziraphale told Crowley, nodding towards the woman. "She's been helping to organize this and make it a national thing."

Crowley considered the woman. "Good for her. Humans doing good, huh?"

"Exactly." Aziraphale beamed, and it made the ghost of a smile cross Crowley's face.

They didn't talk to her, not with the wall of miracles that surrounded them. They just walked in the crowd, adding to the bulk of the fairly quiet and scared procession through the streets. Many people wore pink triangles as a sign of their sexuality, but Crowley hoped they would find something else to represent themselves; the symbol was steeped in blood and death. It had been used to round up the gays during World War II where they had then been killed in large numbers. Even after the war they had left them in prison. It was a infinitely painful symbol; even if it did represent their past, he hoped it wouldn't represent their future.

"Bit dangerous here, isn't it?" Crowley commented.

"Yes. And here they are anyway," Aziraphale said proudly. "All these people, out here, trying to make a change." His angel took his hand and squeezed it. "Because of you."

Crowley looked away. "Nah. I didn't do anything."

"And that made a huge difference." Aziraphale pulled him close. "Darling, if you hadn't been there, none of this would have happened. There could have been another demon there that _would_ have stopped me, or Marsha, or anyone else who tried to start anything. And this might have been delayed for decades. These people, right here, and the ones that will join this community in the near future, you _changed their lives_ for the better by refusing to do what Hell told you. You're _incredible_."

Crowley blushed and looked at the ground. "So now me being lazy is a boon for humanity, huh?"

"That wasn't laziness and you know it. That was pure bravery. Like everyone else here."


	13. Addiction

_“Every choice comes with a consequence. Once you make a choice, you must accept responsibility. You cannot escape the consequences of your choices, whether you like them or not.” - Roy T. Bennett_

It wouldn't be a stretch to say Crowley enjoyed mind altering situations. True, the two he mostly indulged in were alcohol and sleep, but that didn't mean he didn't explore all the rest. He'd tried meditating once, and being alone with himself for the hour was one of the most excruciating things he'd done. He'd tried poppy when it was first being used in Europe, and had tried cannabis back when the Chinese had started using it as an anesthetic. One time he'd been sent to Shuar in what was now Ecuador, and he'd tried the Ayahuasca ceremony, though he'd done it only the once because he'd turned into his snake form under the influence and had forgotten how to turn back until the effects wore off.

Needless to say, people were scarred, he was scared, and he spent most of his time in human form to avoid a repeat.

The _point_ was, that although he usually just got drunk because that involved Aziraphale and pleasant nights and a sense of home and safety, he was fully in character, so to speak, when he started trying the more potent stuff humans began to create, like heroin and meth and morphine. He'd never become addicted, of course, but he'd tried it, usually a few years after they were first made, just to make sure that the humans had gotten the formula right for maximum effect.

Which was why it was _not weird at all_ that he was lying on his table, high on ketamine a little more than ten years after its first creation in 1962.

Nor was he necessarily _hiding_ this from Aziraphale. It was just that he had better things to do when Aziraphale was around, so he _naturally_ took the ketamine when his angel wasn't around.

Nothing to be concerned about here.

Besides, it would be over in three hours, and he could miracle his corporation back to rights at the end of it. No biggie. Just a good way to spend three hours. And maybe he'd take it again and go a full six hours. And then nap.

Crowley turned onto his side and the movement was slow and sluggish. His skin had gone rather numb, and as he turned the world seemed to lag a bit. He could see the thrones he'd gotten for himself and Aziraphale, but his seemed twisted and broken, bleeding. Just a piece of metal scrap.

Crowley did not try to miracle it right. After his first trip, he'd learned not to miracle while this high.

A sharp pain in his stomach got him moving again, and he fell onto the floor.

He couldn't even feel himself hit it, which was... good. He felt good. Even if the floor didn't really exist.

He pushed himself to his hands and knees and the wave of nausea rolled through him again, and he vomited onto the floor.

And that was ok. He felt better, he just needed to move away from it. Even crawling was hard. It felt like he'd somehow found himself on the surface of Jupiter, weighing a hundred times more than he usually did.

Crowley never made it to the bed, but that was fine. He didn't mind laying on hard surfaces, and it seemed a pointless exercise to do anything.

Three hours later, when the ketamine wore off, he found himself in the hallway of his flat, below a statue of Good and Evil fighting.

Hopefully that wasn't symbolic in any way.

Aziraphale looked over to where Crowley was laying with a frown of concern on his face. His demon was basking in the sun in the middle of his bookshop, which wasn't unusual. But though he was awake, he seemed... disconnected. Almost drunk, Aziraphale would call it, except he didn't smell like alcohol.

Aziraphale would know if Crowley was drunk. He'd been around every version of drunk Crowley that existed throughout the years, and this state was definitely not drunk.

He had known that Crowley had still had difficulty coping over the past two years. It wasn't hard to tell. He'd started yelling at his plants for one thing; a result both of his own internal frustration and a rather innocent suggestion by a human that talking to your plants made them grow better. His demon had gotten fixated on the idea that his plants understood him, and thus it had begun. Aziraphale didn't interfere, figuring that having some sort of cathartic release must be good for him, especially as the demon wasn't talking to Aziraphale about it.

And then Crowley had begun to be more distant, which had hurt. It was one thing for Crowley to feel comfortable in his flat, or for him to feel comfortable being alone at all, which had taken a few weeks. But Crowley had sought solace in Aziraphale's arms, and Aziraphale had given him anything he had asked for. When he had stopped leaning on him, Aziraphale had hoped it was a sign Crowley was getting better. Settling into a new normal; perhaps a more weary, less reckless normal, but a normal.

Instead...

The angel sighed as he looked again at Crowley. He didn't know what Crowley had taken, but that something had been taken was indisputable. Something would have to be done. He didn't want to lose Crowley to a never ending haze. Perhaps when Crowley surfaced from his current state, they could talk about it. Maybe it was time.

Aziraphale turned back to reshelving some books when he heard an alert from the outer perimeter.

It had seemed prudent to set one up, back when Crowley had practically lived at his shop. Nothing serious, just a small alert system that would tell Aziraphale if any celestial or occult being was approaching.

Thank God he had.

Aziraphale rushed to his demon. "Crowley! Get up, someone's coming!"

Crowley slowly turned to him, blinking eyes that had dilated further than Aziraphale thought was healthy. "'Zira?" he slurred.

And Aziraphale had to come to terms with the fact that Crowley was not going to be moving of his own volition any time soon.

Crowley felt control return to his limbs. It was like easing out of the deep ocean, surfacing slowly enough that it felt like nothing was changing until one moment he looked to the side and he realized he was in Aziraphale's bedroom with no memory of how he'd gotten there.

Had someone tripped over him? Except surely the odd customer was used to him by now. Well, this had been his first time taking anything in Aziraphale's bookshop, but he had fallen asleep there before, so it was roughly the same amount of response.

Crowley got off the bed and stretched, feeling his body settle itself back into place. It was weird, but after having a body for 6000 years, he'd honestly say he was more comfortable in one than outside of one. Sure, it was weird and squishy and there were hard bits inside that just fucking weren't attached to anything, and it was rather fragile, but how else would he get to experience any of this awesome shit? Everything from the way loud deep sounds vibrated through his cells to the taste of a well aged wine, to the flight of a good trip to the exquisite elegance of Aziraphale's lips on his. It all needed a body.

Crowley sauntered to the door and pulled it open.

And froze.

That was _Gabriel's_ voice. He knew him.

Crowley carefully closed the door as quietly as possible, then backed up onto the bed.

There was no way he would be able to get out until the suited prick left. And... Aziraphale must have moved him up here to avoid the archangel.

Crowley felt his heart begin to beat in his chest, his breath to shorten, his entire corporation reacting to the stark realization of how close they'd come to disaster.

Bodies were stupid that way.

He'd gotten too comfortable. He'd risked their _lives_. He could have been the reason to Aziraphale's punishment, they would have had to run. They still might.

Satan, he was an idiot. He'd made the rule of not tripping in Aziraphale's shop for a reason, and then he'd gone and broken it because... because he _hadn't_ been able to go the day without a fix.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Crowley wrapped his arms around his knees, waiting with his nerves at full alert. If they even thought about doing to Aziraphale what he had gone through in Hell... well, he might die as a result, but he'd wreak some major havoc.

He could really use some ketamine. Then he wouldn't have to worry at all. It would be so _easy_.

It didn't seem to matter that taking it would be a horrible idea. It was the greatest of temptations to just have another dose and let Aziraphale take care of him and the archangel downstairs and everything else, and he could just _not worry_ and _not be scared_.

Was that too much to ask from life?

Crowley listened to the sound of his voice and the muffled sounds beyond the door and waited like nothing more than a rabbit hoping to be overlooked by a snake.

He hid behind the bed when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and readied himself to shrink so small no one would notice.

"Crowley?"

He raised his head over the edge of the bed. "Are they... gone?"

Aziraphale closed the door behind him. "Yes. We're very much alone, my dear."

Crowley sagged in relief and leaned against the wall. "I'm so sorry, angel. I - I'm sorry."

Aziraphale sat down next to him in the space between wall and bed. "I think... we need to talk about this."

Crowley swallowed. "Do we have to?"

"Yes. I rather think we do." Aziraphale reached over and squeezed Crowley's hand. "But I'll be here for you every step of the way."

The problem, as it was, with deciding to 'stand up' to God and 'tell her what he really thought' was that he'd gotten far too used to doing things with her he could do with no one else. It wasn't like Lucifer could ask Beelzebub if they wanted to go out to see a play or an art exhibit. In fact, the only demon it might _actually_ be fun to hang around on Earth with, he couldn't contact. And going to those places _alone_ just felt... empty. Wrong.

So he'd stopped going. But he didn't want to just hang around in Hell where he might hear the sounds of tortured souls, all of whose screams reminded him of nothing more than Crowley's torture.

Lucifer, instead, found himself all too often in the new 'clubs' with far too loud music and far too many people and a good supply of hard alcohol.

A _lot_ of hard alcohol.

He'd decided his favorite was the cognac. It was smooth and warm, it tasted like oak and brown sugar, and it made his skin deliciously prickly.

Lucifer tossed back his latest shot, then leaned back with a tired sigh. The problem with these places was that even _they_ weren't fun on one's own. Especially since he wasn't planning to gyrate on the dance floor among the mortals that were throwing their bodies around and engaging in Lust-ridden activities in the corners.

It was all very mortal indeed.

A raised hand had another shot coming to his table, and when he turned to watch the server come to his table, the world took a second to catch up.

He was, undoubtedly, very drunk.

A well placed glare kept the server from asking any questions as he tossed this latest one back.

He didn't feel any burn from it anymore. Was his mouth numb? Was that a thing that happened when people drank?

A tired sigh escaped him. Perhaps it was time to go... elsewhere. Back to Hell. Where he belonged.

Lucifer stood, and gripped the table hard, the world swaying dangerously around him.

"Shit."

He leaned against the table, blinking his eyes and waiting for the world to right itself and the nausea churning in his gut to settle.

Eventually it settled down, but when he tried to straighten, the nausea decided to come back in full force, and he was back to leaning over the table, hoping desperately he wasn't about to projectile vomit across the wood veneer.

"Here."

A gentle hand pressed to his forehead, and it was blessedly cool.

Lucifer looked up into God's eyes.

"Let me get you home," She said kindly.

Slowly, _slowly_ , She helped him to stand, and he leaned on Her shoulder as they walked out of the club.

He didn't try to speak until they were in his room, in the depths of Hell. She wasn't supposed to be here, but it was the Almighty, and She never cared. Once there, She helped him onto his bed and he watched as She brought a cup of water to his side.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "Isn't this a natural consequence of my choice? Shouldn't you leave me to suffer?"

She stroked a small and gentle hand through his hair. "I'm not healing you, my child. Nor will I ever use a miracle to stop you from indulging. But is not our relationship also a natural consequence of our actions? I fear... you are right, Lucifer. And I wish to make amends."

"I don't forgive you."

"I know."


	14. Holding Pattern

_"Stripping human beings of their ability to choose is damaging, whereas giving them back the power of their own volition is essential for recovery. Alcoholism is a choice, not a disease.” - Baldwin Research Institute_

Aziraphale glared at a customer that seemed a little too interested in one of his books.

He had gotten a lot better over the years at discouraging people from making a purchase, and oftentimes even from _attempting_ to make a purchase. There was a bit of artistry that went with it, though it really ought to have been more Crowley's purview than his.

Still, it was another skill he'd learned from the ground up, like his sleight of hand, and he was proud of it. Especially because it allowed him to continue to expand his collection without Heaven guessing it was more for him than for blending in with humanity.

The customer the glare was aimed at shifted weight uncomfortably, but didn't leave.

So Aziraphale began to quietly dust as far away from his counter as possible, occasionally sending another glare towards the customer. It would take some time to wear him down, but -

"Bad news, angel."

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley's entrance and smiled despite the greeting. "What is it, dear?"

"It's - who's that? Get rid of them, this is important."

Aziraphale frowned. Usually Crowley didn't mind - anti-notice wards being what they were. This must be frightfully important.

"Get rid of -"

"I'm sorry, sir," Aziraphale said to the indignant customer. "I'm afraid the store is closed."

"The store is closed? Because your boyfriend came in."

Aziraphale fought the smile at the reference to Crowley as his boyfriend. "Yes. I'm terribly sorry. Come back tomorrow."

"This is no way to run a business!"

Aziraphale nodded and apologized again as he ushered the customer out of the door.

"So?" Aziraphale asked once the door was locked and the sign flipped. "What is it?"

Crowley sighed and collapsed into the couch. It was good to see him without any sign of having taken anything. The demon had been completely sober - wine not included, of course - for the past ten years, which just went to say how hard it was to get off something once you'd started; Crowley had struggled with a purely psychological addiction for almost eight years.

He was different, of course.

Life changed them all.

Aziraphale moved Crowley's legs to sit under them. "Go on, then."

"I've been called Downstairs. There's a party for Pollution."

"Oh! The new horseman. What have they done?"

"Some major oil spill halfway across the world." Crowley shrugged. "No idea why I should care, but it's a big hullabaloo, so I have to make an appearance."

"I'm sorry. Will you be alright?"

"Probably." Crowley sighed. Going to Hell had been a trigger for a while, but they'd worked on that too, because he'd had to go. Completing his M25 project had helped a lot with Crowley's recovery, and even though he hadn't gotten a "wahoo" - as he'd later complained to Aziraphale about - he'd received accolades, and that helped too. Hell had become that much less stressful, though he'd never _enjoy_ going down there.

"How long?"

Crowley shrugged. "No idea. Hopefully in days rather than weeks."

"I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too." Crowley sat up and Aziraphale leaned over to kiss him gently.

"But I'll miss you more. I'll be bored and you'll be partying, after all."

"Pfft, with demons. Trust me, angel, I will be missing you every second."

"No, the M25 was a fun _side project_. You really think the buffoons in upper management could come up with something like that? They don't even know what a car _is_ and they've been out for more than a century at this point." Crowley sipped his wine. "They're all stuck in the 14th century, is what it is."

The low level demon he was talking to nodded seriously. It amused him to no end how the lower demons looked at him as someone _cool_ and _exciting_ and _visionary_ when the higher ups were halfway to killing him at _least_ 75% of the time.

"I rode in a car," the demon - probably named something that started with an 'N' - said excitedly. "Much better than a horse!"

"Damn straight. Hate horses."

The demon nodded seriously and sipped their own drink, still a little uncertain about the whole thing.

Crowley had had to pick it out for them, given they hadn't had any before. He'd taken the time to explain _flavor_ , but they'd ended up with something that would get them drunk and they enjoyed. So that was a win, but it was going to be a boring party if no one could choose a good drink.

"How do you come up with things like that?" the demon asked seriously. "Like the M25?"

Crowley shrugged. "It just comes to me. You also have to really _understand_ humans. No Duke here truly gets them anymore, you know."

"Ah, the Serpent of Eden."

Everyone tensed and stood to attention at the sound of the newcomer's voice. He was wearing a suit that actually matched the decade, all dark reds and sleek lines.

"My dark lord," Crowley said, as politely as he was able. It wasn't a lot of politeness, but it was better than how he talked to Hastur.

The other demon mumbled something along the same lines, freezing up and probably hoping to be ignored.

"Hello, Shaxo," Lucifer nodded at the demon whose name Crowley had apparently gotten _extremely_ wrong. "Crowley." He paused a second. "Have you noticed people aren't enjoying the event?"

"Um," Crowley looked around, trying to figure out why he was being targeted for this. He eventually settled on a nonchalant shrug. "I doubt they've been to a party before."

"Exactly. You have. Encourage people to enjoy themselves." Lucifer patted Crowley's shoulder and left, leaving two bewildered demons in his wake.

Shaxo looked at Crowley in awe.

Which made him rather uncomfortable.

"I think Lucifer, Lord of Darkness, just told me to get everyone drunk," Crowley joked.

Shaxo chuckled nervously. "Y-yeah. Totally."

"You're helping, right?" Crowley asked, because if he could delegate, he absolutely would, and this demon would probably do whatever he asked just then.

"Of course! What do you need?"

"Well, why don't you gather some of our colleagues, and I'll teach us a common human game after I get some of the dukes and princes actually drinking." _Our_ colleagues, of course, because that put them into this together.

"Sure!" Shaxo hurried off, and Crowley determined to memorize their name this time.

He sauntered over to where Beelzebub and Hastur were lurking. A job was a job, and Hell, he was The Tempter, wasn't he? He could convince a bunch of demons to get 'turnt', as the kids said.

"Hey, Beez," Crowley said casually as he came up to the group, ignoring the way his heart beat a little faster.

There was nothing wrong with being scared; that was what Aziraphale would say. _Had_ said, actually, multiple times. It was just a message, but it was one he couldn't listen to just then, because showing fear in front of upper management was like waving blood in front of a shark.

Beelzebub looked at him in annoyance. "Crowley. What are you doing here?"

"You told me to come. It's a party and all."

Beelzebub rolled their eyes.

"Just noticed you weren't enjoying the refreshments," Crowley nodded to the drinks on the table. "Couldn't find one you liked?"

Beelzebub sighed. "It's human food."

"Yeah? Just thought, the main boss put it down here, I think he might expect us to drink it."

That made both demons frown in thought. If Lucifer wanted them to drink, they really ought to. It didn't even count as tempting. Maybe cajoling.

"Listen, I think you would enjoy," Crowley snapped his fingers to pull the right wine out of the air. "this one." The one he'd pulled was a very old one, dry and red. It almost put Crowley in mind of something a little spoiled, which would make it perfect for the Lord of Flies. He held out a glass.

Beelzebub took it suspiciously.

They smelled it curiously, then took a sip.

"That's... not bad."

Crowley grinned. "I _have_ been drinking the stuff for over 5,000 years."

"Do Hastur," the prince ordered.

Crowley eyed Hastur, then pulled a glass of absinthe out of the air. The old recipe. For hallucinations.

"This just screams you," he said, handing it over.

Hastur also looked suspicious. Everyone in Hell was always suspicious of each other.

It wore on a person.

Even if Hastur was right this time.

"What is this?"

"Absinthe. Fancy, French."

Hastur sipped it and Beelzebub and Crowley both watched curiously.

"I... it's drinkable."

Crowley grinned. "See? Alcohol is the best. You just have to find the right one."

Beelzebub took Crowley's arm and dragged him to another group. "Choose them drinks. Go on."

Crowley considered this group.

This might actually be kind of fun.

"Group's ready!"

Crowley managed a smile at the demon. Shit, what was he called? Shane? Shazam?

Didn't matter.

"Perfect." Crowley miracled a table, chairs and a deck of cards and took a seat. He'd been dragged around, helping demons find the right drink for the occasion until at least the higher ups were drinking their boss's chosen refreshments. It was a little kiss ass, but it was also an easy way to stay on a dangerous person's good side.

The other demons, all lower level like himself took seats when he did, and looked eagerly to him and he grinned and explained how to play Kings.

With a few tweaks, of course, to make it more exciting like, for example, including a few marijuana joints for extra oomph. Not that he, personally, was planning to take it. He'd have to get properly drunk, of course, lead the way and all that, and then he'd spend a week or two reminding himself that that _wasn't_ , actually, the best way to spend an evening.

Or a day.

Or a week.

But taking pot while drunk would just make the cravings worse, because he'd be even more out of his head, and the more out of touch with reality he got, the harder it was to adjust back.

But he could get everyone else high. And he'd feel incredibly good about it.

And three games later, with the entire table high and drunk and loud, he felt even better.

Crowley cheered along with the rest of the group as Shuso downed his beer as punishment for losing "never have I ever". Great game. Perfect game. Crowley had actually lost a few times because, as he explained, being on Earth meant he didn't do the kind of torture some of the others did. But then, when he went he got almost everyone every time.

"Woo!" Shusan broke the empty bottle against the table, which was one of their new rules of the game. The cards stayed miraculously dry, and that was really the only consideration.

"Crowley's turn!"

Crowley grinned and pulled a card from the splatter that had made its way across the table. The first game had legitimately had a few neat piles, but that had quickly stopped being the case. None of them were coordinated enough for that anymore, and Crowley felt himself swaying a little just reaching over the table.

"Aw shit."

He tossed the card on the table as the demons went wild.

"King! Smoke!"

A joint was pushed over to him, so he, well... he couldn't say no at this point.

"He's the last one!" the demon at his right called out. "We got everyone!"

Crowley chuckled and lit the thing on his finger and took a drag. He was already drunk enough it wouldn't matter, right? He might even not remember this. "That's the whole table!" he yelled, to raucous cheers and some pounding on the table.

"We should take another shot to celebrate," someone suggested.

"We should smoke another _joint_ to celebrate," another repudiated.

And somehow more joints made their way across the table, and another one was handed to him 'so he wouldn't miss out'.

He could feel the lightness of the weed make its way quickly through his blood, mixing with his already slow and tingling brain.

Crowley breathed out slowly. Satan, he loved this feeling. Knowing he shouldn't do it didn't make it less fun. He closed his eyes for second to enjoy the way his thoughts slid across his mind like he was falling down a glacier with no way to stop.

"Crowley!"

Crowley turned from the table of hilariously giggly lower demons after finishing his first joint to look at the swaying Beelzebub.

"Yeah?"

"What is Hastur doing?" Beelzebub pointed.

Crowley started cracking up. He couldn't help it. Hastur was staring at a wall and muttering to himself quite loudly. He could see him through the demons that had started dancing, each to their own music which created a cacophany that would make Aziraphale's ears bleed.

"He - oh fuck, he's _tripping balls_."

"And what _iz_ that, exactly?"

Some of the other demons at his table were starting to giggle.

"Absinthe," he paused to laugh. "It's a hallucinogen! He's fucking hallucinating, holy shit!"

Hastur set fire to a random section of wall, which set off his table.

Beelzebub turned with a slight sway and crossed their arms. "He's... hallucinating?"

Crowley just nodded as he tried to catch his breath.

"What did you give him?"

"Absinthe."

Beelzebub held out a hand and Crowley miracled them the right stuff.

"Right." They watched the prince of Hell head for a small group of demons, and Crowley started laughing again.

Everyone was going to be tripping balls.

Lucifer stood and watched his demons - drunk, high, and tripping - as they partied to their hearts' content and felt incredibly, achingly, longingly lonely. Somehow even more lonely than he had felt before. Maybe he'd thought on some level that having a party for his demons would be 'fun', that it'd alleviate the cold emptiness that followed him from task to mindless task. Even in their most mindless state, however, he couldn't interact with his demons. Every time he went up to one, he could taste the acrid scent of fear, see the tense lines of wariness, like a gazelle before a lion.

So he stood and he watched. At least everyone else seemed to be having a good time. He tried to soak up the ambiance, but he felt like a void had taken root in his chest instead.

Lucifer put down the drink he'd been nursing and left, slowly making his way to his own room, where he might be alone, but he could at least pretend that it was by choice.

"What is _that_?" Shason pointed at the powder Crowley was now tipping into his drink.

He froze and stared at the powdered drink.

It would be a lie of epic proportions to say he was thinking clearly. The party had been going for _three days_ and he hadn't managed to sober up the entire time. _No one had_. It was the kind of party you could only keep going if you were all immortal and had no where in particular to be, and the food and drinks never ran out. And everyone else was still having a fantastic time, high as kites, out of their minds drunk, and occasionally staring at their hands.

But they didn't know it could be _better_. How could they?

And of course, he was the only one to adjust fairly quickly to the new normal. His mind was happy to return, to settle like a wheelbarrow in a well worn track and then began to demand he kept pushing it.

So he was vaguely aware he was about to make an awful decision, but he was in _Hell_. He'd been drunk and high for _three days_. How much worse could it make the cravings if he had just a taste of ket again, when he was _already_ craving it with everything he had?

"Crowley?" The demon asked again.

Crowley finished pouring all the powder. "This is not for you guys." He screwed the cap on and shook it to dissolve. "Trust me."

"But... what _is_ it?"

"Human drug. Crazy potent. Experienced users only." It would probably be very demonic to get a demon hooked on a human drug. All sorts of evils going on there, but Crowley couldn't bring himself to. Well, maybe if it was Hastur he'd make an exception, but this random demon who looked at him with something like hero worship?

It was like kicking a puppy.

Nor was he any stranger to being incredibly undemonic.

"But it's good?"

"I'm not giving you any, Shtacie!"

The demon sighed. "It's Shaxo."

"Close. You don't want this."

"Then why are _you_ taking it?" Shaxo crossed their arms.

"That's different. I've taken pretty much everything. Not speed running from alcohol to hard drugs in three days."

"So... I could take it in like a month or something?"

Crowley groaned and put a hand on the demon's shoulder. "Listen, Shaxo. _Don't do hard drugs_. Just because I have self destructive tendencies doesn't mean you need to develop them." He patted their shoulder at their wide eyes. "Good talk."

And with only a modicum of concern, he took a swig of his beer.

Aziraphale gently pet Crowley's hair as he read. They'd decided on a quiet night in, something the demon definitely needed after a week of partying. They'd shared a bottle of wine and a delicious rose apple tart, and then settled on the couch, Crowley with his head on Aziraphale's lap, Aziraphale reading out loud a _Miss Marple_ mystery by Agatha Christie that Crowley hadn't heard before. It was a favorite series of Aziraphale's, and this book had a signed inscription from Agatha herself, whom he'd known and cared for very dearly. He'd also known her mother, who'd had the Sight and therefore never wondered why he did not age.

It should have been an idyllic evening in every respect, except that Crowley was as tense as a wire, and was picking at his skin as a result.

Aziraphale eventually paused when Crowley broke his skin. "Darling?"

"It's fine." He miracled it whole. "See? No worries."

Aziraphale released a slightly exasperated sigh. "Did you, ah, take anything while you were Downstairs?"

There was silence from the demon on his lap.

"I'm not upset," he murmured, petting Crowley's hair. "I just want to know so I can help."

"I kind of took everything." Crowley rolled over to look up at him. "I mean it started with alcohol, because I was getting everyone drunk! And then I got a lot of people high and I kind of _had_ to do some." Crowley blushed. "And then I took ketamine on my own."

Aziraphale nodded, keeping his expression carefully neutral. "I understand."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It's ok. We'll get you past this again. You know we will."

Crowley sighed. "I just wish I hadn't done it. I _knew_ I shouldn't do it. I knew enough to tell others not to do it. And still..."

"Darling, it was a very crazy situation. You remember what we do when we relapse?"

There was silence for a few seconds before he said, resigned, "we forgive ourselves."

"Just so. And I forgive you. And then?"

Crowley blushed deeply. "Identify the triggers and learn how to manage them... so just... don't party in Hell again and I'm good."

"Or perhaps don't overdo on lighter stuff?"

He shrugged, shifting minutely on his lap. "I held out for three days. I doubt I'll be in a situation like that again. Once I get through these cravings, I'll be ok." Crowley caught Aziraphale's gaze. "I promise. I'm not going to go back to it."

Lucifer leaned against the railing, watching the ducks get upset as he didn't throw any bread. He steadfastly didn't look at his... at Her.

"Things are progressing well," he said, talking to more to the air in front of him than Her.

"Yes."

Lucifer didn't look at Her, didn't want to see the loss in Her voice echoed on Her face, in Her eyes as She looked imploringly at him, apologizing in the silent way She had been for the past twenty years.

He still didn't know what to do. Sometimes he wanted to just forget, if he couldn't forgive. Let them move forward as if the past didn't stand between them like the brick wall it was, but every time he thought of it, it caused the old pain and bitterness to rise to his throat. Old emotions, stewed for the past six thousand years until they were almost a comfort. He didn't know how he would live if he couldn't lean on them. What would he do? What would all of Hell do?

He was already planning changes he couldn't enact until this game was over, but if he forgave or forgot, then what would his purpose even be?

"Even if they fail," he said after the silence between them had lengthened into minutes. "the world won't completely end, will it?"

She shook Her head. "There are failsafes. But everyone here has free will. Should they all fail, humanity will return to a much, much earlier time. But they won't die completely."

Lucifer nodded. "Good. It's not time yet." Because if the world truly ended, he would have even less purpose than he was grappling with now.


	15. Armageddon Comes

_“It's our choices that matter in the end. Not wishes, not words, not promises.” - Alexandra Bracken  
_

"It's been done." Lucifer looked to God. "Have you switched it?"

The Almighty tsked. "You know I don't do any of the actual switching. Dierdre and Arthur Young will be in the same church at the same time. Mary Loquacious is in that same church, and, as her nature has dictated, has been given a very minor role. Crowley will soon appear with the child, and if he stays true to form, he won't stay to make sure the job is done right."

Lucifer sighed and looked back down at the Satanic Church of St. Beryl. "There's too much chance in this."

"Well, that is the nature of free will, is it not? There would be no point to any of this if I could just step in and change the outcome."

Lucifer frowned as he looked at the church. He had no idea what their relationship was anymore. Sometimes, more than the anger and bitterness, all he felt was the emptiness of solitude, and the part of him that wanted, more than anything, his mother's love again. But still he'd wonder which would be worse, the hole of loneliness, or the pain of forgiving.

"It must be _their_ test," he said.

"Either way," She said gently. "It will be their test. Do not fret, Lucifer. It will all work out in the end."

They watched as Crowley's car pulled up to the church, held their breaths as he walked in and handed off the child, and released it when the switch went as they had hoped.

The timer had started.

"Eleven more years," Lucifer said. "And this is over."

"Yes." The Almighty looked at him and Her golden eyes seemed to gleam in the dark.

"What," She asked, almost 200 years after she'd first posed him the question. "would you do if you win?"

Lucifer shrugged, not breaking the eye contact. "I think if they fail to stop the end of the world, it will be their job to stay and help rebuild what remains. And you? You never did say."

"I will tell them to stay on Earth, to continue to protect them against any that wish them harm. I would ask nothing more of them than they be exactly who they already are."

"You're sure he'll accept the dog?" the Almighty asked eleven years later.

Lucifer nodded, watching the hound approach the group of eleven year olds from their hidden vantage point. "Of course. He loves dogs and he has no reason to say no. Hasn't heard anything about hellhounds or Hell or Heaven. I mean, nothing serious, anyway."

She nodded, and there was an air of nervous anticipation. If the boy rejected the dog, the game was over, and they would have little to judge from. Lucifer figured she would argue for them, and he would argue for them as well, and the whole thing would be inconclusive and inconvenient.

Although, it might extend the game.

Lucifer wasn't sure if that was what he wanted or not.

"What really matters," Lucifer said to break the tension. "Is the name. And the type, I suppose. See?" He gestured to the space where the large slavering hound used to be, replaced by a small cute little terrier. "Perfectly normal dog. He'll probably name it Spot or Fido."

She nodded.

"What would you name a dog like that?" Pepper asked, and they both fell completely silent.

"I think I'll name him," Adam, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness paused, considering it. "I think I'll call him Dog. Saves a lot of trouble, a name like that."

"Or that," Lucifer muttered. "Trust my kid to have no imagination."

The Almighty laughed, and he almost smiled in response. He _wanted_ to smile in response and he _couldn't_.

"I think it is perhaps the best name we could have hoped for," She said with a smile. "Dog. That's what he'll be. A small, cute, smart dog."

Lucifer released a breath. "So the game begins." In a few more days, he would have no reason to sit next to Her. No reason to come up to Earth and enjoy art galleries and operas. No more lunch or dinner dates with Her where She looked at him with love and hope. No more time to try to decide what he was going to do.

"No," She said softly, and when Her eyes met his, he knew She was thinking the same thing he was. "So the game begins to end."

"You know, if you lined up everyone in the whole _world_ and asked them to describe the Velvet Underground, nobody _at all_ would say 'bebop'."

Aziraphale gave Crowley a Look as he got out of the car.

"Oh, there's a book back there." Aziraphale pointed to the back seat.

"Well it's not mine," Crowley defended quickly, as if worried Aziraphale would get the wrong idea. "I don't read books."

"It has to belong to the young lady you _hit with your car_." The look turned into a glare.

Crowley rolled his eyes as Aziraphale retrieved it. "I'm in enough trouble as it is. I'm not gonna start returning lost property. That's what your lot do. Why don't you just send it to the Tadfield post office addressed to 'the mad American woman with a bicycle'?"

Aziraphale hadn't quite caught the last of it, because he had, at last, retrieved the book and read the cover.

 _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch_.

The holy grail of prophecy books.

A description of the events leading up to Armageddon.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale looked up. "Look." He held up the book, and Crowley sighed.

"Isn't that the one you were looking for?" he asked after a second, with not near enough reverence in his voice. "Maybe don't send it back after all."

"I'm not going to _steal_ it."

Crowley raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I might... borrow it," Aziraphale allowed. "But Crowley, this is supposed to have a detailed description of Armageddon!"

The demon perked up. "Will it tell us who the antichrist is?"

"I have no idea, but it very well might."

"Then borrow away." Crowley came around to his side. "Come on. I'll make you cocoa and you can read your new book. Mix business and pleasure."

Aziraphale nodded, already opening it to the first page.

"Sorry, right number!"

The phone slammed down loudly, and Crowley jumped up from his nap. He'd decided to sleep after Aziraphale had gotten so deep into his new book that he'd begun muttering aloud to himself, wearing spectacles they both knew he didn't need.

They did fit his image though.

"Did you find him?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, hands moving excitedly. "I've found him. I'll give a call to my people to keep an eye on him."

"Keep an eye on him? Can't you just tell them to take him out?" Crowley contained his own excitement. At last, something in this nightmare was working out.

"Don't be ridiculous, Crowley," Aziraphale said, with a stern look in his direction before he began calling.

Crowley sighed and sat back down to wait. When had Aziraphale even _acquired_ a network of highly trained human operatives, and why didn't he have one of his own? He hadn't thought to include humans; the only humans he'd thought of as usable were the satanists, and Satan knew those were annoying. Not even properly evil, truly.

And he couldn't contact any of _them_ anyway, since they were rather going against Hell.

Crowley listened to Aziraphale give the name and address of the antichrist to whoever was on the other side of the phone. Had the prophecy been that specific?

Crowley was impressed.

"Alright," he said as Aziraphale put the phone down. "Shall we head over there then?"

Aziraphale worried his hands.

This was never a good sign. It was usually a sign that Crowley's totally _normal_ request was hitting up against some of Heaven's cult brainwashing. He hated running into it, always at the oddest times.

"Well," Aziraphale said. "I was thinking I should contact the Almighty about this. It's gone too far, Crowley, and no one has heard anything from Her! I'm sure if I just call and - and explain everything, She'll call everything off."

Crowley stared at him. "Are you crazy? You're going to rely on _God?_ "

"Of course! I'm an _angel_ , Crowley!"

"She's not going to call it off. If you even reach Her. Don't be ridiculous! Heaven _wants_ this war. _Hell_ wants this war. _Everybody_ in every stupid position of power wants to start killing humans and each other! What do you think you're going to accomplish?"

"Well I have to _try!_ I can't just... just turn my back on Heaven! If I can talk to the Almighty, we can work things out!"

Crowley rubbed his temples. "You're so clever. How can someone as clever as you be so _stupid?_ "

Aziraphale frowned at him. "There's no need for that kind of language."

"Fine! You know what, fine. But don't think for a minute I'm staying here while the whole place gets all holy. I'm heading back to my flat." Crowley got up and stretched. He'd just have to let his angel run after this hare-brained scheme. "Come get me when you get turned down."

"I think the Almighty would listen to reason," Aziraphale argued.

"Sure," he scoffed. "Well if you manage to avert the apocalypse with a phone call, still come get me."

"I will," his angel said softly. Aziraphale caught him before he headed to the door and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Stay safe. And take the book."

"You too," he murmured, accepting the prophecy book. Then he headed to his Bentley to speed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The apocalypse cometh. I've skipped some stuff from the show that would be too redundant, which I hope isn't confusing. :) 
> 
> Also, as Crowley was not planning a heist in the 60s, he never met Shadwell. Sad, but in this version, only Aziraphale can call him up. Still important to get Newt there though!


	16. Heaven and Hell

_“The extraordinary thing about having absolute conviction that you’re doing the right thing is that you’ll do it – whatever that may be, no matter how difficult, dangerous or improbable.” ― Jan Golembiewski_

It is at this point we must move backward, just a little, to understand what is happening in the present.

There was, after all, one specific moment in time where Gabriel and Crowley had actually occupied the bookstore at the same. Not that Gabriel was able to understand what he was feeling, 150 years of miracles being what it was, but there was a nagging thought in his mind that there was something about Aziraphale. Something important, and yet, the further he walked from the bookstore encounter in both space and time, the less he worried about whatever it was that may or may not have been going on with Aziraphale. _Aziraphale_ of all people.

He wasn't exactly any kind of concern.

Besides, he was the Archangel fucking Gabriel. He wasn't going to spend any time on something that was unlikely to yield any kind of output. Instead, he left the task on Michael with an offhand comment that perhaps she ought to look over Aziraphale's affairs. Just to be thorough.

Michael was even less interested in the task than Gabriel. Aziraphale wasn't under her direct command. And it was _Aziraphale._ The worst he could be doing was enjoying being on Earth more than an angel really ought to, but as no other angel wanted to be on Earth duty, it was an oddity that was rather beneficial for all of them.

In fact, she rather forgot all about the task until the end of days began to creep up behind her, when the antichrist came to Earth and Aziraphale began to interfere with the child. At which point she figured that, before the world ended, it was a good idea to finish with all the tasks that had been assigned her.

It was best to enter war with a clean slate and no worries about undone tasks.

So she looked through some of his reports, all of which seemed appropriate and accurate. She'd thought to drop it at that point, mark the task as done and let Gabriel know everything was fine, but had ceded to her better judgement and did her due diligence by checking some of the earth observation files of Aziraphale, which again appeared perfectly in order.

The thing about the observation files was that they _existed_ , but no one ever really _used_ them, unless there was a specific purpose for it, like timing your entrance right when appearing to holy people.

By the time Michael had spent enough time on the issue to realize she had never once seen the inside of Aziraphale's shop, there was about a year left before the Apocalypse was due.

Michael began to review the files more thoroughly, and soon found there were regular periods of time where Aziraphale simply did not appear. If she pushed on the time to try to locate him, there was a strong urge to simply look somewhere or somewhen else, and had she not already been aware and wary and an archangel, she had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't even have noticed.

It spoke, worryingly, of a very well _mastered_ power, one that was subtle and understated and expertly crafted.

So she ran backwards through the files, slowly, keeping her eyes open - metaphorically - for the gentle persuasion that appeared regularly around Aziraphale.

She wondered if she would be able to pick up on the first attempts at these miracles and how far back they would go. And she wondered what in Heaven Aziraphale could be hiding. He couldn't be working with the enemy, could he? Not with how much effort he was putting into the antichrist. And even if he was, that would all just lead to the same place, wouldn't it? Another great war between Heaven and Hell.

Her task had, in fact, finally turned interesting enough to catch her complete attention, and she spent several months in the observation files, running back through the years looking for any kind of mistake instead of trying to brute force her way through the bubble of miracles.

She found one in 1969.

The most accurate term for it would be a blip. As if the miracle had just slipped for a minute before being pulled back on.

So she focused on that particular scene and ran it forward, to find Aziraphale healing humans.

She paused it and miracled the report Aziraphale had sent on the occasion. He'd been assigned there that time, and the report didn't include any statement of healing, but there had been a remarkably low amount of injuries and no deaths during the entire affair.

Was that what Aziraphale was hiding? That he was using his own personal miracles to influence the world?

There _had_ been a note sent about the odd increase of miracle use in the late 1700s, but it had dropped off after the reprimand.

But maybe it hadn't.

She resumed the scene and watched as Aziraphale finished healing one person before moving on to the next, apparently unaware he was now exposed.

A second later, someone with fiery red hair, black clothes and dark shades ran into the room.

Aziraphale looked up at the Adversary and smiled fondly.

And the files refused to follow him any further.

The next step, then, had been to call Ligur to see if she could have _his_ files of the incident.

She'd been in professional contact with the demon - that is, they had exchanged case files once every few centuries and had no other conversations - for the past two millennia. _He_ had told her that they didn't _have_ a file on the incident, because Crowley had simply not been there.

There had been no demonic influence then at all.

Michael hung up without telling him otherwise.

Michael then decided to jump backwards a few centuries, in hopes of finding a time before the miracles had started, and searched for any interactions between the Serpent of Eden and Aziraphale.

 _Something_ was happening, and she wasn't sure what. She wasn't even sure how _often_ it happened, because Aziraphale couldn't be seen in his bookshop, and it was impossible that Crowley was there _every time_. Gabriel had been in the bookshop, after all, and she couldn't imagine that Crowley could have been there then.

She found their interactions easily, but getting a good view was a good deal harder. They were constantly meeting in crowds, in low lighting, in loud places.

Covert meetings.

She finally found a view of them together, properly, at a production of Hamlet and captured the picture. That was enough to go to Gabriel with. She would also let Ligur know Crowley wasn't to be trusted.

Whatever they were doing, she knew it was wrong. Demons and angels didn't interact.

Aziraphale watched the Metatron disappear, some last bit of hope crumpling in his chest.

Heaven was not going to do the right thing. Not this time.

This time it was down to him and Crowley, and wasn't that a crazy idea? That a random angel and low level demon were going to stand against all of Heaven and Hell to do the right thing?

This was _humanity_. It was God's favorite creation. It was a whole planet of people caring for each other and making friends and falling in love and making each other's days a little brighter with a smile or a gift or a memory. Wasn't this why angels had been put on Earth? To protect this beautiful creation that kept growing and reaching for the stars?

Aziraphale took a breath. Crowley had been right. He quietly closed the shop, skirting the still open circle. The last thing he wanted was to end up in Heaven just then.

When he closed the door behind him, there was a finality to it. He was closing the door on Heaven itself, making the decision at last. It had been coming for a while, perhaps ever since he and Crowley had first kissed in the forties it had been inevitable, or perhaps before then, decades before at some unpinpointable moment when their kiss had truly become inevitable.

Aziraphale straightened his suit and headed down the street towards Crowley's shop.

"Aziraphale."

He paused as his path was blocked by three angels, all suited and proper and without the fake smiles that made him sick to his stomach. What did they know?

"Ah, Michael. Uriel. Sandalphon," he greeted with a nervous smile. They moved threateningly closer and he backed away, only noticing after that he'd been herded into an alleyway.

"We've just been learning some rather disturbing things about you," Michel said, all faux concern as she led the pack forward. "You've been a bit of a fallen angel, haven't you? Consorting with the enemy?"

Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face as he backed against the wall. "I - I haven't been consorting."

"Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in Hell," Uriel said, smug. "He's in trouble too."

"It's time to choose sides," Michael said, firmly.

"What?" Aziraphale asked, fear burning a pit in his stomach. He barely heard Michael, focusing on Uriel instead. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Uriel said. "We let Hell deal with its own."

"No." The word slipped out softly, Aziraphale's mind filled with thoughts of Crowley and how he'd been after one year of punishment and the holy water he'd handed over. Crowley couldn't even call, he wasn't in his library and he didn't have one of those new fangled machines.

"Oh, yes," Sandalphon said. "Hell has interesting ways of dealing with traitors, didn't you know?"

And something snapped inside of him. It was almost physical, after his losing his faith in all of Heaven, after struggling to find the antichrist, after all the small moments between him and Crowley that he wouldn't trade for the highest position in Heaven, he simply... snapped.

These three amoral, stuck up angels were not going to stand between him and Crowley.

"Get out of my way." Aziraphale moved toward the street to find Michael in his path.

"So you've already chosen a side. But you're not even working with Hell." And there was a question there she didn't seem able to articulate.

"Doing the right thing doesn't _have_ a side. Now get out of my way!"

Aziraphale never got to find out what Michael would have said to that, though she looked taken aback and confused before the Heavenly horns sounded and all three of them looked up.

She stepped back. "Then I guess we'll see you on the other side."

Aziraphale watched them leave the Earth, then he ran. He had to reach Crowley before he got it into his head to use the holy water.

He just _had_ to.

Crowley was watching the Golden Girls. He'd found it on one of the many streaming services he didn't pay for, and he was able to watch it with his super duper brand new smart TV.

He had to do _something_ to pass the time. He was just... waiting. Waiting for Aziraphale. He knew the angel would be devastated when he showed up to help him stop the antichrist, and he was ready to -

Crowley jumped from his seat when there was a desperate pounding at his door. He hurried over and opened the door to see Aziraphale there, leaning against a wall breathing heavily, and looking about to pass out.

"Did you... run?" Crowley stared at him in disbelief. 

"Oh thank goodness you're alright." Aziraphale put a hand to his chest and tried to breathe.

"Um, yeah?"

"You - goodness, I'm horribly out of shape, aren't I? - you need to go."

"You're in _perfect_ shape, what the Hell are you talking about?" Crowley snapped. This sounded like garbage from Heaven again.

"That's not - are you not listening? You _have_ to go! They know, Crowley! They know about us, Hell's going to be after you any second, you have to leave!"

Crowley stared at him, mouth open. "What?"

"That Haven you have, it's time. You'll just fly to Alpha Centauri and -"

"Aziraphale!" Crowley took his hands. "Stop panicking. We can figure this out. We - we'll just go stop the antichrist and -"

" _How?_ How do we stop the _Antichrist_ with all of Heaven and Hell egging this on and - and trying to -"

Crowley kissed him. He was clearly not about to stop panicking on his own. Aziraphale kissed him like it might be the last kiss they ever shared, and Crowley realized suddenly that it _very well might be_ and he pushed back into him, hands going to his hair and holding him as close as he could manage and -

"What the Heaven is going on, Crowley? What have you done?"

They jumped apart, breathing heavily, thanking whoever that Aziraphale was out of sight of the screen that Hastur had just appeared on.

Crowley wandered back into the main room, looking as unbothered as possible. Hopefully not like he'd just been making out with an angel.

"Hastur, hey. Not following you, how do you mean?"

Hastur looked about to burst from rage. "The boy! The boy called Warlock. We took him to the fields of Megiddo. The dog is not with him. He knows nothing of the Great War. He is _not_ our master's son. He said that I..." He paused. "That I smelled of _poo_."

Crowley wanted to throw back his head and laugh, but he had a strange feeling if he started laughing it would turn into hysteria and he wouldn't be able to stop.

Instead, he just nodded. "Well, you can see his point."

"You're dead meat, Crowley. You're bloody history. You stay where you are! We're coming to collect you!"

Crowley winced as Hastur sliced open Blanche's throat and ran off the screen.

"I see them." Aziraphale turned to him from the window he'd snuck over to.

"Shit." Crowley glanced out to see a not-car coming for them. It had the general shape of a car. It had a boxy front and a large carriage, but the outside wasn't sleek and shiny, but a dark matte void that seemed to absorb the light from the street it walked down - for it wasn't driving. The wheels, or what passed for wheels, didn't even turn, didn't touch the street. The whole image floated menacingly towards the building in a thick, tense silence. "Angel, the holy water."

"Crowley!"

"What? I'll draw a devils trap, you empty it into a bucket. We can trap these guys."

Aziraphale took a deep breath and nodded. "Where is it?"

"Safe behind the Fuseli painting. Code is 20-30-70."

They sprung into action, Crowley miracling himself a can of red spray paint to draw the necessary symbols on the floor as the angel ran to prepare the water. Crowley quickly told Aziraphale where to place it, stepping as far back as he could from the angel holding the only thing that could kill him.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and Crowley pushed Aziraphale into the kitchen before lounging on his throne, just as a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," he called. Calm. His voice stayed calm. If this didn't work it would just be him and Aziraphale against two demons and the angel didn't even have his sword.

But he had to be calm.

The door opened and Hastur and Ligur stormed into the room.

"You're done for good, Crowley. We're -"

Ligur cut off as he hit the edge of the devil's trap.

Crowley grinned at the stunned look on the Duke of Hell's face.

"You would _dare_ -"

"I would, actually. And I wouldn't try anything fancy to try to get out, either." Crowley looked up pointedly, and the dukes followed his gaze. "100% certified holy water. Wouldn't want any to spill, would we?"

There were, after all, a few things powerful enough demons could do to break these; like shaking the earth until the circle broke. It was something he'd only seen a few times, as such powerful demons didn't really interact with humanity. But that was their loss.

Hastur backed away to the edge of circle, staring at the bright green bucket. "Where did you even _get_ that?"

"That would be from me." Aziraphale entered the room, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the demons, who stared at him.

Crowley sent him a glare that he hoped explained in detail how annoyed he was that Aziraphale was putting himself in danger.

The angel got it.

" _You_ ," Ligur spat.

"Me. Ready to go, darling?" Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who nodded.

"Let's go." He picked up The Book and waved cheerily at the dukes as he walked around the circle and through the door the angel was holding open for him.

"Ta ta!" Aziraphale said as he closed the door behind them. They walked down to the car before it started.

"You should go to Haven," Aziraphale began. "I'll try to stop the child."

" _You_ go to Haven. I'll join you when everything goes to Hell."

They locked eyes.

And both got in the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! unfortunately we don't get to see Lucifer and God in this one.


	17. Forgiveness

_"Forgiveness is not always easy. At times, it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one that inflicted it. And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness." - Marianne Williamson_

Michael frowned.

She was _supposed_ to be getting ready for the war. The big one. The final battle.

And her phone was ringing.

She stepped away from the battalion to answer, hissing into the small device, "what do you want?"

Ligur's angry voice came through the other end. "They've gone rogue."

"Oh. Yes, I know." She didn't have to ask who. Really, Hell was behind in all things. "Just let them -"

"They've fucking trapped me in this blasted apartment and it was with your angel's help!"

She felt her lips twitch with amusement. "Then I suppose I won't be seeing you in battle."

"If there is one! I know Crowley, big fucking thinker and way too fond of Earth. They've been planning it since the start, the boy they've been reporting about is the wrong boy! They know where the real one is and they're headed there now!"

Michael felt herself freeze. "But... the boy accepted the dog. It's almost started."

"I don't know what's going on, but I know we need to follow those two and put a stop to them."

Michael looked back at the battalion longingly. "I'll get some help and come free you."

"Why is there traffic right now?" Crowley hit the wheel angrily. "How are we supposed to get through this?"

Aziraphale stared gloomily at the unmoving cars in front of them. The cars were backed up from the M25 to the smallest roads.

"This may have something to do with your project in the 70s," he said gently.

Crowley sent the angel a glare.

"What?"

"You encouraged that project!"

"Yes I did. You needed it. And here I am, reaping the consequences of our actions. This is what comes of doing ill, a karmic comeuppance, if you will."

Crowley groaned and hit his head against his wheel as Freddie Mercury crooned in the background. The column of cars in front of them moved not a single inch.

"Well maybe - what on Earth?" Aziraphale cut off as fire rose in front of them. Well, a good deal away, but in front nonetheless. He rolled down the window and looked around. "Can we turn on the radio?"

"Nope. The car won't let us listen to anything else." Crowley messed with the radio in demonstration and they managed to reach a different Queen song.

The angel sighed. "What is your car's obsession with the man?"

Crowley shrugged uncomfortably and tapped the steering wheel. "No idea. But its been doing this for three decades now and it's starting to get old. He's dead!" The last he shouted at his Bentley. "Get over it!"

As if in response, the car's volume rose steadily.

"Maybe don't-"

"Just move on already!" Crowley yelled over the music, ignoring Aziraphale's concerned look. The Bentley was obviously ignoring him too, raising the volume like a child covering their ears. "You don't need to -"

"What the _devil_ is this garbage?"

Crowley and Aziraphale looked back to find an incredibly uncomfortable Sandalphon in the back seat, covering his ears with his hands.

"Wha - _this_ \- you - _excuse_ me?" Crowley scowled at the angel. "This is Freddie Mercury! This is high art, you uncultured swine!"

"I've _listened_ to high art," Sandalphon said snidely. "This is noise."

"Oh really?" Crowley turned up the music even louder. "What did you say, fucknut? Couldn't hear you!"

"'Sound of Music' isn't 'high art'," Aziraphale protested, loud enough to be heard without it feeling like he was struggling or yelling.

Sandalphon glared at him. "Well, you can give it up! You'll never make it out of here!"

Crowley scowled. "Like hell we won't." He turned the wheel and pushed on the gas and elicited a yelp from the angel minion in the back as they accelerated to reckless speeds on the sidewalks.

"What are you doing? You can't go through that! You'll discorporate!"

"Got to go sometime!" He smiled widely as they sped towards the wall of flame.

Aziraphale reached out for him and he took his hand, squeezing.

"You're insane!" Sandalphon gripped his seat. "Both of you!"

"Maybe we are," Aziraphale agreed. "But sometimes you have to do what you must."

And then they hit the wall.

Flame engulfed the car, and the entire world became orange and red. Smoke clogged his lungs, but he didn't need to breath, and he didn't need to see just then. He just needed to keep driving forward in the car that had never failed him next to the angel that had always stood by him.

Even, in the end, against Heaven.

Sandalphon discorporated.

Aziraphale's hand stayed tight in his.

Freddie Mercury kept singing so loud it almost drowned out the crackle of fire.

And then there was light.

Aziraphale waved cheerily to the cop car that stood there, and they drove on to the end of the world.

It was at this time that Adam, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness and his three friends found Newton Pulsifer in an upside down car and carried him to Anathema Device. Only moments later, three of the Them left the cottage only to be caught by an Adam who had fallen to the voices whispering in his head in the woods. Around the Them, in their childhood hideout, the winds picked up, the rain began to fall, lightning jumped between purple clouds and a tornado that should not have existed came into being around the Tadfield area. Anathema and Newton reached out to each other as the winds died down and picked up again.

And a flaming Bentley, barely doused at all from the driving rain, driving far too fast and already dealing with wind sheer, was picked up and tossed off the road.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a significant look as he used a miracle to keep them safe.

To be fair, they'd been burning through a lot of power to keep themselves going, so it was barely a drop in the bucket, but it was still something to be mentioned. By look at least.

"Shut up," Crowley muttered as he crawled out of the burning car.

"I didn't say anything," Aziraphale said, doing the same, grabbing The Book. He was soaked almost immediately upon stepping out, and he just accepted it this time. "Let's get under that tree until this dies down."

"Who says it will?" Crowley yelled back to be heard over the storm.

"Agnes!"

They struggled through the weather to the tree, though it offered only scant protection against the elements. Aziraphale pulled Crowley close to him and Crowley pressed against him.

"How -"

The Bentley exploded.

Crowley stared at his car. His _car_. Barely a car now, just a pile of burning rubber and twisted metal. It had been with him for almost a hundred years.

"Oh, dear." Aziraphale squeezed him tightly. "I'm so sorry, darling."

Crowley swallowed with difficulty. He felt like he should be mourning. He _was_ mourning. The Bentley had been a constant companion, an old friend.

The water on his face, he would swear for the rest of his life, was only from the rain.

Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the tragedy that had been his Bentley. The thunder that following felt like an appropriate eulogy, and he felt a small wave of gratefulness that he had the time, in the midst of the end of the world, to grieve.

But he didn't have forever.

All too soon the sky cleared and the rain ended. The wind died down.

Crowley had no idea what that meant.

"We need to find the Antichrist," Aziraphale urged gently.

Crowley nodded. "Right." A snap of his fingers and they were dry again.

He turned away from the car.

Aziraphale took his hand and squeezed.

And they hurried into Tadfield.

Adam, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness watched his three friends join him with their bikes, ready to stop the end of the world that he'd accidentally put into motion. He'd not doubted for a second that his friends, Pepper, Brian, and Wensley would back him now he was back to normal, just as Dog now sat happily in the basket on his bike.

"Where are we going?" Pepper asked archly.

"The Tadfield Air Base," he told them. "That's where it's all going down."

"The end of the world?" Wensley confirmed.

Adam nodded. "Let's -"

"Adam Young?"

The Them turned to find the oddest two people hurrying towards them. Adam looked at them, and then he _saw_ them. One a fiery pair of white wings, thousands of eyes and a golden halo, the other the black of the night sky and orange scaled serpent, black feathers down his spine.

He blinked and they were back to normal, an old professor looking man with white curls, and a black dressed man with black glasses and copper hair.

An angel and a demon.

Adam wondered if he was seeing their aura. Would Anathema have had a glimpse of the wonders of Heaven when she looked at them?

"That's me," he said, stepping towards them. "Are you here for Armageddon?"

"Yes," said the one in black, while the one in cream hurriedly said "no" at the same time.

The two exchanged a glance.

"We're here to stop Armageddon," the one in cream explained.

"Yeah, we're not down with it," the one in black explained. "Killing humanity, not my thing."

Adam smiled. "Me neither. We're going to stop it. It's already started at the Air Base."

"Oh! Well that's lovely." The one in cream smiled. "Perfect. Well, not exactly perfect, but good. I mean, the plan was... the tentative -"

"I don't have a car," the one in black cut in.

"Can't you _fly_?" Adam cocked his head at the pair, who seemed to freeze.

"Well..."

"They can fly?" Pepper asked.

"Course they can!" Adam told his friend. "He's an angel! And he's something snake like, but I'm sure I saw wings."

"That would be a demon," the one in black clarified. "Yeah, we can fly there."

"Good," Adam turned back to the eldritch beings. "We'll meet you there."

The two stepped back and wings unfolded from nowhere, as if they had been wrapped as their jackets. The Them watched them take off and fly into the sky.

"Angels and demons?" Brian asked. "This is big, isn't it Adam?"

"Yeah. Come on, we have a world to save."

Adam pedaled into the Tadfield Air Base, the gates opening for his group like, well, like magic. He ignored the distraught guard and they headed towards the building with the Horsemen in it, Adam being drawn to the place like a magnet. He could feel them inside, a strange void of energy that seemed to try to consume everything around it.

The Them pulled up in front of the building and his personal angel and demon landed on either side like a holy guard. Or maybe an unholy guard.

Perhaps, though, they were some of the most human guard despite their origins.

Their wings folded back behind them and seemed to disappear into the fabric of their jackets.

The angel brushed himself off. "Well, here we are."

"Here we are," Adam agreed. He stepped forward and called out, "I'm here!"

The Horsemen inside felt his presence, he could tell. He could feel the change in energy as they headed out of the building to stand in front of them.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be here!"

They all turned to look at a squadron of soldiers running over to them. It wasn't something he wanted to deal with.

"You're going to go to sleep now," Adam said firmly, and the soldiers all dropped to the ground, safe and asleep.

And that was that for any bystanders.

"It has begun," said Death, who looked very much like what Adam would have come up with had he expected someone named Death to show up.

"I didn't ask it to. I want it to stop."

"It cannot be stopped. The world must end."

The angel took a step forward. "The _Antichrist_ has given you an order!"

"There is -"

"Aziraphale! This ends now!" A strike of lightning hit the pavement and another angel materialized, sword in hand. "This war is happening and there's nothing you can do about it!"

On the other side two demons crawled out of the earth.

"Oh, fuck," muttered their demon. "This is not good."

"We can do it," Adam said. "Me and the Them will take on the Horsemen. You two hold off Heaven and Hell for us to finish."

They all exhanged a look before nodding. The angel turned to battle with a firm look and as he walked he shed his mortal form, golden and blue light filling the area. On his other side the demon muttered, "We're all gonna die," before doing the same, and that side became filled red and darkness.

"Don't look," Adam warned. "I don't think humans should see that."

"Right," said Pepper. "Let's take these guys down."

And Adam, the Adversay, walked forward between the battles of Heaven and Hell, leading his friends towards the Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the end of the world.

Lucifer brushed off his suit as he appeared on the Earth and looked at his companion, who looked immaculate as always. Then they looked at the scene in front of them which had frozen at their appearance.

The Horsemen had gone. One witch and one witchfinder stood together holding a book and staring. Three children and a dog stood next to four bicycles, unsure what to do. Crowley was struggling to his hands and knees and bleeding. Two of Heaven's angels stood next to two of Hell's demons, staring down one boy and Aziraphale who looked rather worse for wear.

Lucifer smiled and walked forward. "Somebody called?"

"This will not do," the Almighty said. She waved a hand and a wave of light passed over the scene. Injuries disappeared. Weariness lifted. Clothes sewed themselves together.

Crowley appeared next to Aziraphale.

_Where he belonged._

"My dark lord," Beelzebub said angrily, waving towards Adam. "He refuses to start Armageddon."

"Thank you, Beelzebub, you have acted well, you may stand down."

"You too, Gabriel, Michael" said the Almighty, her voice clear and pure. "It's alright."

Everyone stepped back, but confusion made its way onto every face there. Gabriel and Michael exchanged worried looks, and Aziraphale and Crowley stood to flank the boy on either side, and just from the two steps that they took, Lucifer knew exactly how set they were on their current course of action. There was no give to either of them as they looked at the rulers of both Heaven and Hell.

Lucifer and the Almighty exchanged another look, and she gestured for him to go ahead.

He approached the group that was left; Adam, Aziraphale, and Crowley.

Aziraphale and Crowley stepped forward to block his path to the boy.

"This is what you want to do?" he asked, though he knew the answer he would receive. "Aziraphale, you'd fight and kill other angels for this world? For these humans? For the French Revolution and the Spanish Inquisition? Are these humans, so easy to corrupt, who fall so deep into evil that not even the worst of my demons can match them?"

Aziraphale stood up straighter. "Yes. I would. They may be all that, but they are far more."

"And you, Crowley? Willing to risk your angel's death for humanity? Is he not worth more to you than the vermin that crawl the Earth? You would make a warrior of a peaceful man to save a species that is killing itself?"

Crowley swallowed and glanced at Aziraphale, then nodded.

Lucifer nodded. "And I don't suppose I could convince you, Adam, to start Armageddon after all?"

"No," came the child's voice, firmer than it had any right to be. "I don't want the world to end. That's not the right way to do things. Especially not so Heaven and Hell can settle a score."

He turned from them to the Almighty. "I suppose there's no wiggle room on this one. They're yours."

She smiled sadly. "Yes, I suppose they are."

He paused before heading back the way he came, thinking of regrets and apologies and forgiveness. "Crowley," he said softly. "I'm sorry for '69. It shouldn't have happened." And then he left the shell shocked group to walk back the way he came, past the Almighty who looked at him with endless grief and despair in her eternally youthful eyes, and he felt his heart clench at the thought of how long it might be before they spoke again, and the cold distance that would be between them when they did.

So he stopped. He turned around.

And Lucifer decided to be the better person to stop his own heart from breaking in two.

"You know, there's going to be a new play out on Broadway this Friday," he said casually.

The Almighty beamed, and it was sunlight harnessed. "There will be. A romantic comedy."

"My favorite," he said dryly. "I'll see you there?"

"I would be _most_ happy to join you, Lucifer."

He smiled, just a little, and returned home.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyya! Thank you to everyone for reading my stuff! So excited to share this story with you that got WAY out of hand.
> 
> If you like my writing, check out my instagram for my art! @aanahitt1


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